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SECTION III 

THE ENGLISH DRAMA 

PROM ITS BEGINNING TO THE PRESENT DAY 

GENERAL EDITOR 

GEORGE PIERCE BAKER 

PROFESSOR OF DRAMATIC L1TERATURB 
IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY 






















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Thomas Shadwell 
















EPSOM WELLS 


AND 

THE VOLUNTEERS 

OR 


THE STOCK-JOBBERS 


By THOMAS SHADWELL 

" / 

EDITED BY 

D. M. WALMSLEY, Ph.D. 

LONDON 


D. C. HEATH AND COMPANY 

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO 

ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO DALLAS 

LONDON 



FEB 


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Copyright, 1930 
D. C. Heath and Company 


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PRINTED IN U.S.A. 

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^preface 


The two comedies here presented exemplify the 
best work of a dramatist who, in recent years, after 
two centuries of neglect, has come into his own. 
The important part played by Shadwell in develop¬ 
ing the Restoration comedy of manners from the 
older Jonsonian comedy of humors is well illustrated 
by Epsom Wells; while The Volunteers , besides giv¬ 
ing a graphic picture of contemporary life, the value 
of which was recognized by Macaulay, shows the 
dramatist as a precursor of the eighteenth-century 
writers of sentimental comedy. 

The Biography and Introduction are based on 
materials collected for a thesis approved in 1924 for 
the M.A. degree of London University. Soon after 
this volume was ready for the press, Mr. Montague 
Summers’s edition of Shadwell’s complete works 
appeared, a note on which is given in another place. 
Still more recently has been published a comprehen¬ 
sive survey of the dramatist’s life and comedies by 
Dr. A. S. Borgman, whose researches, however, have 
not made necessary any modifications in the present 
editor’s text. 

For many valuable criticisms and suggestions I 
have to record my special obligations to Professor 
iii 


IV 


^preface 


Allardyce Nicoll, whose learning, enthusiasm, and 
generosity are sufficiently known to all students of 
the Restoration drama. Grateful acknowledgments 
are also due to the officials of the British Museum 
Library, where most of the preliminary work was 
carried out. For the Notes and Glossary I am 
largely indebted to the New Oxford English Dic¬ 
tionary, that indispensable and rarely failing source 
of information too seldom acknowledged. Finally, 
to my wife, for constant help in manifold ways, 
I owe more than can be adequately expressed. 

D. M. W. 


Note : The portrait facing the title page is taken from the frontis¬ 
piece of Shadwell’s Works, 1720. 


Content* 


PAGE 

Preface .iii 

Biography .vii 

Introduction .xviii 

EPSOM WELLS 

Note on Text.Ixiv 

The Play.i 

Notes on the Play.187 

THE VOLUNTEERS 

Note on Text.204 

The Play.205 

Notes on the Play.362 

Bibliography. 371 

Glossary. 378 


v 











































































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l3fograp^ 

Certain problems relating to Shadwell’s birth and 
family still remain to be solved. He claimed to be 
descended from an ancient Staffordshire family, 
and he adopted the arms first granted to a Thomas 
Shadwell of Linedon (Lyndowne), in that County, 
in the year 1537. 1 The dramatist’s father, John 
Shadwell, was admitted in his fifteenth year as a 
pensioner to Pembroke College, Cambridge, on 
16 April, 1634. The registers of the college state 
that he was the son of George Shadwell, a practi¬ 
tioner of the law ( legulius) and was born at Thet- 
ford, Norfolk. 2 In 1636 (16 May) John Shadwell 
proceeded to the Middle Temple, the records of 
which add the further information that he was “son 
and heir of George Shadwell of London, gent., 
deceased”; and that he was “bound with John 
Pay and Thomas Shadwell, gents.” This Thomas 

1 Genealogist, New Series, XXV, 252. This reference and certain 
others in this note have already been given in the present writer’s article 
in the Times Literary Supplement, 16 April, 1925. 

2 Cf. Alumni Cantabrienses, ed. J. and J. A. Venn, I, iv, 47; pointed 
out to me by Mr. L. M. Shadwell, of Surbiton. This contradicts the 
assertion in the “Memoir” prefixed to the poet’s Works, 1720, that his 
father “was bred at Caius College,” unless, of course, he transferred 
from the one to the other college. 

vii 


Vlll 


Mogjraptn? 


Shadwell was doubtless he who had been admitted 
to the same society on 9 December, 1637, as the 
“third son of Edward Shadwell of Lindon, Stafford¬ 
shire, esq., deceased/’ 1 It seems highly probable, 
therefore, that John Shadwell was related to the 
Lyndowne family. In any case, the appellation 
“gent.” implies that George Shadwell bore the arms 
of the family unchallenged. During the Civil War, 
John Shadwell was in commission for the peace in 
Middlesex, Norfolk, and Suffolk and is said to have 
suffered for the Royalist cause. 2 Between 1665 
and 1673 he held office as recorder of Galway and 
attorney general of Connaught. 3 He was specially 
recommended for his services by the Lord Lieutenant 
of Ireland, the Duke of Connaught, and from 1675 
to 1677 he was entrusted with the attorney general¬ 
ship of Tangier under the Earl of Inchequin. 4 * He 
died at Oxburgh, Norfolk, in 1684. 6 

Thomas Shadwell, the poet, was one of eleven 
children, and was, in all probability, born at 
Santon Hall in the parish of Santon, Norfolk. 6 His 
father owned also Broomhill Hall, in the adjoining 
parish of Weeting, and it appears that the family 
were living here when the son entered Caius College, 

1 Middle Temple Records, ed. C. H. Hopwood, II, 864, 880. 

8 “Memoir” prefixed to Shadwell’s Works, 1720. 

8 S. P. Dom. 21 September, 1671, and P. R. O., L/C 5/190, 9 May, 

1674. 

4 S. P. Dom. 21, 22 August, 1675, and 6 August, 1677. 

• Blomefield, Norfolk VI, 197. 

• “Memoir,” 1720. 


IBiograptjp 


IX 


Cambridge, on 17 December, 1656, in his fourteenth 
year. 1 Search in the parish registers has failed to 
discover the exact date of his birth; but from the 
evidence just cited it seems to have occurred either 
at the end of 1641 or in 1642. 2 Before going to the 
university he had been educated at home for five 
years under a Mr. Roberts, and at Bury St. Ed¬ 
mund’s School for one year under Thomas Stephens. 3 
Shadwell himself tells us that he mastered Greek and 
Latin at Bury School and at Caius College, adding 
that his father was at the charge of having him 
instructed in ‘‘playing upon the Lute . . . and all 
other Gentleman-like Exercises.” 4 On 7 July, 1658, 
he proceeded to the Middle Temple to study the 
law, 5 having left Cambridge without taking a 
degree. It is said that after spending some time 
at the Temple, he “went abroad to improve himself 
by travelling”; 6 whilst there is no reason to doubt 
this statement, no evidence is forthcoming in sup¬ 
port. The years between his residence at the 
Temple and the appearance of his first play in 1668 
are almost a blank, except that according to his 

* Liber Matriculationis, ed. J. and S. C. Venn, 239. 

* The 1720 “Memoir”, which does not give date of birth, states that 
he died in 1692 in the fifty-second year of his age. It is known that his 
death occurred on 19 or 20 November, 1692; hence it may be that he was 
born in 1640; but the evidence of the Liber Matriculationis seems more 
conclusive. 

* Liber Matriculationis, ut sup. 

4 Dedication to The Tenth Satyr of Juvenal, 1687. 

1 Middle Temple Records, III, 1125. 

* “ Memoir ”, 1720. 


X 


HBtograpljp 


own statement he spent four months in Ireland 
when he was twenty-three years old, that is, about 
the year 1665. 1 It is known, too, that during this 
period he married Anne Gibbs (daughter of Thomas 
Gibbs, proctor and public notary of Norwich) pre¬ 
viously the wife of Thomas Gaudy, of Claxton, 
Norfolk. 2 No records of the poet’s marriage have 
been traced, but there is strong likelihood that the 
ceremony was performed by a Roman Catholic 
priest. 3 Mrs. Shadwell was an actress of some note, 
and her name appears first in the cast of Etherege’s 
She Wou d if She Cou d, in the role of Lady Cock- 
wood, acted at L. I. F. in February, 1668. 4 Whether 
she was the same actress who had appeared under 
the name of Anne Gibbs in several previous produc¬ 
tions of D’Avenant’s company is not certain. 4 The 

1 Dedication to The Tenth Satyr of Juvenal. No doubt this visit was on 
the occasion of his father’s appointment to the recordership of Galway. 

2 The name of his wife and that of her father are given in the poet’s 
will, P. C. C./231 Fane, transcribed in Notes and Queries, 8 Ser., Vol. IV, 
1893, PP- 109, no. For her previous marriage see Marriage Allegations 
in the Registry of the Vicar-General of the Archbishop of Canterbury, 1660 
to 1679, Harleian Society Publications, XXIII, 23. This marriage took 
place at St. Clement Danes, London, 12 July, 1662. 

3 See article in T. L. S. cited before. In reply to the accusation that 
he had been married by a “popish priest,” Shadwell admits that he had 
been, for about eight months, nineteen or twenty years previously, 
“leaning towards Popery”; he does not deny that his marriage was 
performed by a Catholic priest, but merely affirms that he has a wife 
lawfully married. (The Impartial Protestant Mercury, No. 80, Tuesday, 
24 January, to Friday, 27 January, 1681.) 

4 Anne Gibbs took the part of Lucia in Cutter of Coleman Street, in 
December, 1661, of Olivia in Twelfth Night, September, 1661; of 
Julia in The Duchess of Malfi, 1664; of Decio in The Slighted Maid, 
May, 1663. 


HBtograpl)^ 


XI 


privilege of taking the principal female part in 
Etherege’s comedy may have been in part owing 
to her husband’s friendship with that dramatist. 

Shadwell’s first play, The Sullen Lovers , or, The 
Impertinents , was performed, a few months after the 
last-mentioned play, at the same theater (2 May). 
Mrs. Shadwell again took the leading female role, 
as Emilia, and Downes tells us that the comedy 
“had wonderful Success, being Acted 12 Days 
together, and performed at Court at Dover.” 1 
The dedication of the play, dated 1 September, 
1668, is addressed to the Duke of Newcastle, who 
remained until his death in 1676 Shadwell’s chief 
patron, and on more than one occasion welcomed 
him as a friend at his seat at Welbeck. The poet 
was also admitted to the exclusive circle of gallants 
who used to meet at Wills’s and the Rose taverns: 
Rochester, Sedley, Buckhurst, Buckingham, Ether- 
ege, and Wycherley. 2 Pepys, too, became a friend 
of the dramatist’s, and was later to stand godfather 
to his eldest son John. 3 To Lord Buckhurst, 


1 Roscius Anglicanus, 1708, 29. The court was at Dover on the 
occasion of the king’s visit to his sister, Duchess of Orleans. 

2 Shadwell and Sedley were also members of the Whig Green Ribbon 
Club, which used to meet at the King’s Head Tavern in Fleet Street. 
(Sir G. Sitwell, The First Whig, 197-203, cited by V. de Sola Pinto, Sir 
Charles Sedley, p. 178.) 

3 Diary, 19, 20 September, 1668; Correspondence, ed. J. R. Tanner, 
I, 209. The Shadwell mentioned under date 30 December, 1661, was al¬ 
most certainly not the poet (as suggested by Professor Saintsbury) but 
another Thomas Shadwell, an auditor general, mentioned in S. P. Dom. 
19 June, 1654. 


Xll 


HBtograptfl? 


created Earl of Dorset in 1677, Shadwell dedicated 
The Miser in 1672, and remained on close terms of 
intimacy with him to the end. 1 Both Dorset and 
Sedley are said to have assisted the dramatist in 
writing his plays, but only in one instance is definite 
evidence forthcoming. 2 

In 1674 Shadwell became involved in a quarrel 
with Elkanah Settle, who accused him of having 
taken a part, with Dryden and Crowne, in Notes 
and Observations on The Empress of Morocco , a 
pamphlet aimed at Settle’s famous heroic tragedy. 3 
To a further attack by Settle, in a postscript to 
Love and Revenge , 1675, Shadwell replied in his 
preface to The Libertine , 1676, countering the 
charges of dulness, carelessness, and hastiness of 
composition with those of plagiarism, labored 
writing, and pretensions to the quality of poet, 
“Servant to His Majesty.” 4 Settle finally replied 
in the preface to his Ibrahim , 1677, ridiculing his 
enemy’s plays, The Libertine and Psyche y and com¬ 
plaining that he had conspired with “Factions 
and Cabals” to damn his plays. 

Meanwhile the relations between Shadwell and 
Dryden, which had probably never been really 

1 See letter from Nell Gwynn to Mr. Hide, quoted in Notes and Queries, 
IV, vii, 3 and below, p. xiv. 

2 See below, p. xlv. 

* Settle’s first reply took the form of a pamphlet entitled Notes and 
Observations. . . . Revised. (1674.) For a full account of the quarrel 
see F. C. Brown, Elkanah Settle, 60 seq. 

4 So Settle styled himself on the title page of Love and Revenge. 


ffitograp^ 


xui 


friendly, were becoming increasingly strained ow¬ 
ing to their differences of opinion on comedy and 
on heroic tragedy, and particularly perhaps owing 
to the greater success of Shadwell’s comedies. 1 
Although it was not until after the production of 
The Lancashire Witches in 1681 that Dryden pub¬ 
lished his Mac Flecknoe (printed 1682), there is 
little doubt that he had written it as early as 1678. 2 * 
This satire on his rival’s personal and literary short¬ 
comings was followed up later in 1682 by outbursts 
of political as well as personal abuse in the second 
part of Absalom and Achitophel , in which Shadwell 
is coupled with Settle in the characters of Og and 
Doeg. While there is reason to believe that both 
these writers were using their literary talents at this 
period on behalf of the Whig party, there are good 
reasons for doubting Shadwell’s authorship of the 
attacks on Dryden in such pieces as The Medal of 
John Bayes? On the other hand, it is not unlikely 
that he had a hand in the pamphlet 4 purporting 
to expose the political fallacies in Dryden’s play 
The Duke of Guise , acted November, 1682, printed 
early in 1683. Dryden replied in an elaborate 
Vindication , which appeared later in the same year, 

1 This quarrel is dealt with in the Introduction. 

* See M. Van Doren, The Poetry of John Dryden, Appendix. 

* See G. Thorn-Drury, Some Notes on Dryden, R. E. S., I, 187 seq. 
(April, 1925). 

4 Some Reflections upon the Pretended Parallel in the Play called The 
Duke of Guise, 1683. Settle and Thomas Hunt probably collaborated 
here. 


XIV 


ffiiograptn? 


in the course of which he ridicules once more Shad- 
well’s dulness, corpulency, addiction to wine, and 
ignorance of classical tongues. A somewhat naive 
but very unprovocative rejoinder at length came 
from Shadwell in 1687, in the dedication (to Sedley) 
before The Tenth Satyr of Juvenal , his first authenti¬ 
cated work since 1681. During these years he was 
living in retirement, probably enforced owing to 
his political activities. 1 

With the Revolution of 1688, Shadwell’s fortunes 
changed for the better. In May of that year he 
produced The Squire of Alsatia with great success 
at Drury Lane, doubtless by the good offices of Dor¬ 
set. When William of Orange landed in England 
in November, Shadwell hastened to welcome him 
in a congratulatory ode, which he followed up with 
another to Queen Mary in February, 1689. After the 
accession to the throne, Dorset, the new lord 
chamberlain, nominated him poet laureate, with a 
pension of £300 per annum and “one Butt or Pype 
of the best Canary Wyne yearely.” 2 In his new 
capacity he produced about half a dozen odes, of no 
intrinsic merit, celebrating royal birthdays and 
similar occasions. He also wrote one comedy each 
year, two of which, Bury Fair and The Volunteers , 

1 It appears that he was in receipt of a pension from the Earl of 
Dorset; he was certainly' living with that nobleman (at Copt Hall, 
Essex) for part of the time. Hist. MSS. Comm. IV, 280 (Letter to 
Dorset, 24 January, 1682/83). 

2 Cf E. K. Broadus, The Laureateship , 79; T. L. S., art. cited above. 


HBtograp^ 


XV 


rank among his best work. In 1690 he had the 
somewhat dubious satisfaction of inhibiting a pro¬ 
logue written by Dryden for Betterton's The 
Prophetess , owing to its supposed reflections on the 
Revolution. 1 In the dedication before The Amor¬ 
ous Bigotte , 1690, he speaks of the long period of 
illness which he had suffered and deplores his 
declining powers. One of his last acts was to use 
his authority to produce on the stage his friend 
Nicholas Brady’s 2 The Rape , or The Innocent 
Impostors , D. L., May, 1692, for which Shadwell 
wrote the epilogue. 

Shadwell’s death occurred on the 19 or 20 Novem¬ 
ber, 1692. 3 On the twenty-fourth of that month 
Brady preached a Funeral Sermon at Chelsea Parish 
Church, in which he seems to imply that the poet 
had died of an overdose of opium. 4 Mrs. Shadwell 
survived him for many years. Of their children, 
John became a royal physician, was knighted by 
Queen Anne in 1715, and erected a monument to 
his father in Westminster Abbey. Another son. 


1 The Muses' Mercury, January, 1707, cited by P. J. Dobell, John 
Dryden, Bibliographical Memoranda, 23, 24. 

1 Dr. Brady had been chaplain to the Duke of Ormonde, under whom 
Thomas Shadwell’s father had held office in Ireland. He is well known 
as collaborator with Tate for a metrical version of the Psalms. 

* The present inscription on the Abbey monument gives the date as 
ao November, “JZtat. Suez 55”; but in the longer inscription given, as 
originally intended, in the *1720 “Memoir,” the date appears as 19 
November, “ JEt. suce 52.” The latter seems the more correct. 

* Confirmed by a MS. note by Oldys in B. M. copy of Langbaine’s Dra. 
matick Poets, 1691. 


XVI 


llBtograplip 


Charles, took up playwriting, carrying on the hu¬ 
mors tradition in comedy well into the eighteenth 
century. The Fair Quaker of Deaf or The Humours 
of the Navy, his first and best play, produced at 
Drury Lane in February, 1710, proved to be as 
successful as any of the elder Shadwell’s works. 1 


NOTE 

Careful examination of Mr. Montague Summers’s 
introduction and notes to his recent edition of 
Shadwell has not revealed any important biographi¬ 
cal facts not already recorded by the present writer. 
To refute Mr. Summers’s statement that “Liter¬ 
ally no research in any direction had been essayed 
with regard to Shadwell,” it is only necessary to 
refer to the well-documented article in the Dictionary 
of National Biography and to several other works 
mentioned in the Bibliography of the present volume. 
Certain new facts also had been brought to light 
by the present writer in the Times Literary Sup¬ 
plement 2 of 16 April, 1925. For example, evi¬ 
dence is there given relating to the original grant 
of arms to the Shadwell family; to the employment 
of John Shadwell (the poet’s father) in Ireland and 
at Tangier; and in support of the conjecture that 


1 Charles ShadwelPs death occurred on 12 August, 1726, at Dublin. 

2 “New Light on Thomas Shadwell”' ( Correspondence ). The present 
writer’s material is set forth in detail in A Study of Thomas Shadwell, 
1924, an unpublished M. A. thesis available in the University of London 
Library. 


HBtograp^ 


XVII 


he was acting as King’s escheator at Wolverhampton 
in 1644. 1 It is also shown that the dramatist’s 
wife, nee Anne Gibbs, had married in 1662 a certain 
Thomas Gaudy, of Claxton, Norfolk, 2 and that her 
second marriage (to Shadwell) was in all probability 
performed by a Roman Catholic priest. 3 The date 
of Shadwell’s appointment as poet laureate, together 
with the Lord Chamberlain’s Memorandum of the 
original document in the Public Record Office, is 
given in the same article and repeated in Mr. Sum¬ 
mers’s introduction. 4 

Finally the two songs taken from the British 
Museum manuscripts (Additional, 19,759 f 20 recto 
and f 17 verso ) and printed in Volume V of Mr. 
Summers’s work, had been discovered by the present 
writer several years ago and published in the Review 
of English Studies for July, 1925. Mr. Summers 
not only makes no reference to this earlier appear¬ 
ance in print of the songs but in his note on the 
text quotes variant readings as they appear in that 
Review . 6 

1 Cf. Mr. Summers’s introduction, xviii-xxi. 

* Cf. ibid., xxviii. 

3 Cf. ibid., xxix. Mr. Summers here quotes the sentence “our Poet 
hath owned himself . . . married by a Popish priest” exactly as it ap¬ 
pears in the original T. L. S. article. 

4 P. ccviii. 

s R. E. S., I, 351; cf. Summers’s Shadwell, Vol. V, 410, 411. I 
have recently shown that one of these songs is to be ascribed to Thomas 
D’Urfey. See R. E. S. IV, 431 (October, 1928). 


3Introtiuctfott 


ABBREVIATIONS 

D. G. 

D. L. 

L. I. F. 

T. R. in B. St 
S. P. Dom. 

S. R. 

T. C. 


Duke of York’s Theatre in Dorset Garden. 
Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. 

Duke of York’s Theatre in Lincoln’s Inn 
Fields. 

Theatre Royal in Bridges Street. 

Calendar of State Papers (Domestic Series). 
Stationer's Register, privately printed for Rox- 
burghe Club, 1913. 

Term Catalogue, ed. Arber, 1903. 


The brilliance of Dryden’s famous satire, Mac 
Flecknoe , particularly of the well-known opening 
lines, has doubtless prejudiced a large number of 
readers against the object of the poet’s ridicule and 
led many critics, even in recent times , 1 to associate 
Shadwell and his works with all that is dull. Yet 
in his own day his reputation as a comic dramatist 
was greater than that of Dryden and at least equal 
to that of Etherege and Wycherley. Historians 
of the drama, too, as distinct from purely literary 

1 See especially Charles Whibley’s disparaging account in the Cam¬ 
bridge History of English Literature, VIII, 173-174. 

xviii 


3|ittMDuctton 


XIX 


critics, from Langbaine onward , 1 have generally 
exhibited Shadwell as one of the most lively and 
original of English playwrights. Indeed, it may 
be said that few who have actually read his plays 
would disagree with the Victorian writer who 
observed: “of all the numerous charges brought 
against Thomas Shadwell, that of dulness has the 
least truth in it.” 2 

As a faithful disciple of Ben Jonson throughout 
his life, his favorite dramatic form was the comedy 
of humors, and it is principally through this medium 
that he presents those vivid pictures of contemporary 
life on which his title to fame must chiefly rest. It 
must be emphasized, however, that his comedies 
are by no means slavish imitations of Jonsonian 
models: if his characters regularly exhibit well- 
defined types or humors for the purpose of satirizing 
the more obvious vices of men and women, they are 
often drawn with such truth to life, and on occasion 
express themselves with such ease of dialogue as 
may earn for their creator the distinction of being 
regarded as one of the founders of the Restoration 
comedy of manners. This aspect of his work will 

1 E.g., the author of A Comparison Between the Two Stages, 1702, 
57. 58; Giles Jacob, The Poetical Register, 1723, I, 222; D. E. Baker, 
Biographia Dramatica, 1764 &c., following Theophilus Cibber, The Lives 
of the Poets, 1753, III, 48, 49; John Genest, Some Account of the English 
Stage &c., 1832, II, 40 seq. ; Sir A. W. Ward, History of English Dramatic 
Literature, 1875, III, 461; Allardyce Nicoll, Restoration Drama, 2nd. 
ed., 1928, 189 seq. 

1 Anonymous author of article in the New Monthly Magazine, 1873, 
III (New Series), 292-297, 353-361. 


XX 


31 ntroUuction 


be discussed in the course of the account of his 
realistic comedies to be given later. Meanwhile 
it is proposed to sketch briefly his work in other 
fields, with the object of indicating its nature and 
extent and thereby illustrating the remarkable 
versatility of Shadwell, a feature which has been 
generally neglected. 

Almost from the beginning of his career, he reveals 
himself as an experimenter in various fields. His 
second play, The Royal Shepherdess , 1669, affords 
an example of pastoral tragicomedy. It is an 
adaptation of an earlier piece by John Fountain 
entitled The Rewards of Virtue , printed in 1661, 
which had remained unacted probably owing to its 
old-fashioned use of soliloquy and lack of action. 
According to Downes, 1 Shadwell’s version lasted 
six days, a successful run at that period. Its his¬ 
torical interest lies in the fact that it marks a stage 
in the development of English opera, and may indeed 
be regarded as a pastoral dramatic opera. Instru¬ 
mental and vocal music was specially set for this 
play by John Banister : it includes, besides a masque 
of shepherds and shepherdesses, passages intended 
to be sung stilo recitativo. In 1674 Shadwell was 
almost certainly responsible for the operatic version 
of The Tempest , 2 which remained popular for nearly 

1 Roscius Anglicanus, 1708, 31. 

2 See W. J. Lawrence, The Elizabethan Playhouse and other Studies 
— First Series, p. 191 seq. ; G. Thorn-Drury, “Some Notes on Dryden,” 
R. E. S. I, 327-330 (July, 1925); and the present writer’s “Shadwell and 
the Operatic Tempest,” ibid., II, 463-466; cf. Ill, 204-208 and 451-453. 


3HntroDuction 


XXI 


a century, and in the following year he produced the 
first fully developed example of dramatic opera in 
Psyche (27 February). Although termed a tragedy 
on the title page of the printed text, its nature is 
more adequately expressed by Matthew Locke, 
who composed the vocal music and published it, 
together with the instrumental, under the title of 
The English Opera} This elaborate spectacular 
drama was based partly on Moliere, Corneille, and 
Quinault’s tr age die-ballet, performed at Paris in 1671, 
in which music and spectacle are mainly confined 
to the Prologue and intermedes. In accordance 
with English taste, Shadwell incorporated these 
features within the acts, achieving thereby greater 
harmony of effect; he added several new incidents 
to the play and represented on the stage much 
action which in the French play is only indicated 
in the dialogue. In general form, as well as in certain 
minor scenes, Psyche resembles Quinault and Lully’s 
Cadmus et Hermione, a tragedie en musique produced 
at Paris in 1674; but the fact that most of the main 
dialogue in Shadwell’s play is spoken marks it off 
clearly from regular foreign opera. 2 The only dis¬ 
tinctively French feature lay in the ballet dances of 
artists brought over specially from France, headed by 
St. Andree. Shadwell, in his Preface, pays due tribute 

1 Locke had composed part of the instrumental music to The Tempest, 
as well as part of the vocal music for The Siege of Rhodes. 

2 See the present writer’s “The Influence of Foreign Opera on English 
Operatic Plays of the Restoration Period,” Anglia XL, 37-50 (March, 
1928). 


XXtl 


^Introduction 


to this master, to the composers of the music, to a 
Mr. Stephenson, the scene painter, and to Mr. 
Betterton for “those things that concern the Orna¬ 
ment or Decoration of the Play.” In speaking of 
the music Shadwell takes care to give himself credit 
for having “chalk'd out the way to the Composer,” 
and refers to his early musical education. 1 It is 
reasonable to suppose that his skill in music influ¬ 
enced the management of Dorset Garden Theatre 
in their decision to offer the work of preparing 
The Tempest and Psyche as operatic plays to Shad- 
well rather than to Dryden or another. In any 
case Dryden was at this period working for the 
rival theater in Drury Lane, where Thomas Duffett 
produced his burlesques, The Mock Tempest and 
Psyche Debauch*d. Although Shadwell shows con¬ 
siderable ability in the preparation of operatic plays, 
he expresses some contempt for such “Rhiming 
unnatural Plays,” as his own Psyche , and promises 
that it will be his last attempt in this kind. He 
appreciated their fundamental weakness, that the 
poetry was overwhelmed by the “splendid Objects 
in the Play . . . variety of Musick, curious Danc¬ 
ing, splendid Scenes, and Machines.” The show, 
produced as it was on a greater scale of magnificence 
than any which had previously been seen on the 
English public stage, yet could scarcely be com¬ 
pared in this respect with its French prototype, 


1 See above, p. ix. 


3|ntrotmctton 


XXlll 


which is said to have cost the royal exchequer more 
than 130,000 livres (excluding the fees of the players) 
when it was produced first at court; when it was 
transferred to the town the daily expenses amounted 
to about 351 livres. 1 Its success may be judged 
from the fact that eighty-two performances are 
recorded between the date of the first, on 17 January, 
1671, and the death of Moliere in 1673. It is per¬ 
haps of interest to compare these figures with those 
given by Downes concerning Shadwell’s Psyche: 
the cost of the scenes “amounted to above £800”; 
and it had “a continuance of performance about 
8 days together.” He adds that whilst it “prov’d 
very beneficial to the Company,” yet “ The Tempest 
got them more money.” 2 Many of the scenes and 
machines were used for later dramatic operas, but 
only one revival of Psyche is recorded. 3 

The success of this operatic play probably indi¬ 
cates the reason why Shadwell again departed from 
his normal sphere of dramatic work in his next play, 
The Libertine , produced at the same theater on 
15 June, 1675. In the prologue he describes it as 

The most irregular Play upon the Stage, 

As wild and as extravagant as th’Age. 

The plot affords perhaps the earliest representation 
in England of the Don Juan legend. In the preface 

1 Georges Monval, Introduction to Psychi, Paris, 1895, xii seq. 

* Op. tit., 35-36. 

*8 April, 1697. (Leslie Hotson, The Commonwealth and Restoration 
Stage, 1938, p. 377.) 


XXIV 


3|ntrotmctton 


Shadwell mentions the original Spanish version, 
VAteisto Fulminato, of Tirso de Molina, which 
he tells us was played in churches in Italy on 
Sundays “as part of Devotion,” adding charac¬ 
teristically “and some, not of the least Judgment 
and Piety here, have thought it rather an useful 
Moral than an incouragement to vice.” There 
seem to have been half a dozen French drama¬ 
tizations of the story, and Shadwell’s debt has been 
variously estimated. It is not unlikely that he 
obtained more than a hint from Moliere’s Don Juan 
ou le Festin de Pierre , acted at Paris on 5 February, 
1665, and may have owed something to Rosimond’s 
Le Nouveau Festin de Pierre 1 and to J-B. La Rose’s 
V A thee Foudroye . 2 Shadwell admits borrowing the 
characters of Don John and his friends, but asserts 
that “all the plot, till the latter end of the fourth 
act, is new”; but his claims of this sort are not to 
be interpreted too literally. At the same time, it 
must be conceded that he has given his prototype 
an English dress and has managed his plot with 
considerable skill. In Act IV he introduces a 
pleasing masque of shepherds and shepherdesses 
in strong dramatic contrast to the main theme. 
This masque was set to music by Henry Purcell 
when the play was revived in 1692. From the first, 
The Libertine , with Betterton in the title role, proved 
very popular, and it remained a stock piece in 

1 D. H. Miles, The Influence of Moliire on Restoration Comedy, 231. 

J W. Harvey-Jellie, Les Sources du Thidlre Anglais, 135. 


31ntrot)uctton 


XXV 


the eighteenth century. At the beginning of the 
nineteenth, S. T. Coleridge in his Biographia Liter- 
aria (Chap. XXIII) accorded it high praise, quoting 
certain passages and comparing it favorably with 
Maturin's Bertram, a fashionable melodrama of 
the time. It must be allowed, however, that much 
of the dialogue is of the low-comedy type: only 
toward the end is the note of tragedy audible. The 
final swallowing up of the Libertine in flames, to 
which he is carried off by devils, recalls the early 
Elizabethan tragedy of Marlowe: the Restoration 
spirit, however, is unmistakable in the scenes of 
amorous intrigue by Don John and his friends. 

In The Lancashire Witches, and Tegue o Divelly 
The Irish Priest, D. G., September, 1681, Shadwell 
combines realistic comedy in which the witches, 
the comic Irishman, and a hypocritical parson pro¬ 
vide the main interest, with curious operatic effects 
produced by “several Machines of Flyings for the 
Witches, and other Diverting Contrivances.” 1 
Downes therefore calls this play “a kind of Opera,” 
thus illustrating the loose application of the term 
in Restoration times. Shadwell’s “Notes upon 
the Magick,” appended to Acts I, II, and III, 
recall Ben Jonson’s learned annotations to the 
Masque of Queens, 1609, with which no doubt 
Shadwell was familiar; but a more immediate 
source of his play is to be found in Heywood and 

1 Downes, op. cit., 38, 39. 


XXVI 


3|ntrotmction 


Brome’s The Late Lancashire Witches (1634), a 
much cruder piece in every respect, especially in 
the delineation of the Witches. In his preface 
Shadwell modestly observes that “For the Magical 
part, I had no hopes of equalling Shakespear in 
fancy.” Nevertheless, he has succeeded in pre¬ 
senting a very lively picture of the subject, and it 
may be noted that Harrison Ainsworth’s novel of 
the same title owes much to Shadwell’s comedy. 
The character of the comic Irishman, again, doubt¬ 
less inspired many later examples of the type, though 
here also earlier precedents were available for Shad- 
well. 1 For satirizing the Tories and for his supposed 
reflections on the Church of England in the charac¬ 
ter of Smerk, Shadwell was, it would seem, restrained 
from producing plays for several years after the 
appearance of The Lancashire Witches. The com¬ 
edy was revived, however, in the early years of the 
following century and proved a successful stock 
piece. 

The plays so far considered may be assigned to 
the category of operatic drama. Most of them, it is 
true, may more properly be called “mixed” dramas, 
having romantic, realistic, and operatic elements 
in varying degrees; but it was from this mixed type 
that English dramatic opera, as exemplified in 
Psyche , emerged. Besides his important contri- 

1 The name Teague appears in Shirley’s Hyde Park, 1632, revived 
1662; Robert Howard’s comedy The Committee, 1663, also has this 
character. 


ifintro&uctton 


XXVll 


bution to this species, Shadwell wrote two comedies 
which exhibit a “romantic” tendency of a different 
kind. In The Woman Captain , D. G., September, 
1679, may be discerned a Fletcher-Shirley theme; 
parallels are to be found in The Night Walker , 1640, 
where Justice Algripe is the prototype of Gripe in 
Shadwell’s play; and Lurcher’s sister, who dis¬ 
guises herself as a boy to revenge herself on Algripe, 
may have suggested Mrs. Gripe, who impersonates 
her brother in order to reduce her husband to sub¬ 
mission. Much of the play is merely farcical, and 
Shadwell himself confesses in his epilogue that he 
is writing down to his audience. His previous 
comedy, The True Widozv y 1678, having been a 
failure on the stage, he infers therefrom that 

Good sence, like solid Meat to sickly Men, 

As soon as swallowed, is thrown up agen; 

And for strong Meats, but few of ye are fit, 

Who to meet Wit, should come with equal Wit, 
******* 
Rememb’ring how you used that last he writ, 

He made this Low, so to your Level fit: 

Plenty of Noise, and Scarcity of Wit — 

The Devil’s in you all, if this dont hit. 

His new comedy proved to be unsuccessful, and he 
retired from the stage for two years. The other 
quasi-romantic comedy alluded to is entitled The 
Amorous Bigotte , With the Second Part of Tegue 
0 Divelly y produced at Drury Lane about March, 


XXV111 


3f]ntroDuctton 


1690. The main theme is apparently based on a 
Spanish play of intrigue, but the source has not 
been traced. Shadwell declares that “like Drake*s 
Ship, ’tis so repaired, ’tis new.” The subtitle sug¬ 
gests that he was really seeking an opportunity of 
introducing once more his comic Irishman of The 
Lancashire Witches. Although the play is lively 
and amusing, it apparently failed to draw audiences, 
for no records of performance have been found. It 
is of interest as illustrating the author’s inventive¬ 
ness or versatility in his last laureate years. 

To conclude this summary of Shadwell’s work 
outside the field of realistic comedy mention may 
be made of his adaptation of Shakespeare’s Timon 
of Athens , D. G., February, 1678, to which he adds 
the subtitle The Man-Hater. It affords the only 
example of tragedy proper attempted by Shadwell, 
and that he was proud of his work is evident from 
the following remark in his dedication: 

it has the inimitable Hand of Shakespear in it, which 
never made more Masterly strokes than in this. Yet I can 
truly say, I have made it into a Play. 

The last sentence has often been quoted to prove 
the author’s excessive naivety and assurance. But 
it must not be forgotten that, judged by the stand¬ 
ards of his time, and indeed of the greater part of 
the eighteenth century, he was not making an 
absurd claim. For precedent he had the alterations 
of Macbeth (attributed to D’Avenant), The Tempest 


iflntronuction 


XXIX 


(as originally adapted by Dryden and D’Avenant), 
as well as Sedley’s Antony and Cleopatra produced 
at Dorset Garden in the previous year, and Dryden’s 
All for Love , produced only a few months previously 
at the rival theater. The original Timon, moreover, 
as it appears in the Shakespeare Folio, is singularly 
loose in construction, and probably represents the 
unrevised work of more than one dramatist; hence 
for stage purposes, some alteration is inevitable. 
Shadwell’s most striking change consists in the 
introduction of two female characters, Evandra 
(in love with Timon, but rejected by him), and 
Melissa (in love with him while he is prosperous, but 
who afterwards spurns him). 1 The music indicated 
in the original text for the banquet is elaborated 
into a regular masque: Nymphs and shepherds 
sing in rivalry with the followers of Bacchus, the 
Maenades and /Egipanes. This masque was set 
to music by Purcell when the play was revived 
between 1693 and 1695. As Professor Parrott 
points out, however distasteful these additions 
may be to modern readers, it is worthy of note that 
whilst all attempts to revive the old play have failed, 
Shadwell’s version “held the stage for over half 
a century/’ 2 

Shadwell sets forth his theory of comedy in the 

1 Similarly new characters had been introduced into The Tempest for 
the sake of balance and symmetry. 

* Cf. The Problem of Timon of Athens, Shakespeare Association 
Pamphlets, No. 10, 1923, 3. Performances are recorded as late as 1745. 


xxx ^Introduction 


preface to his first play, The Sullen Lovers (L. I. F., 
2 May, 1668): 

I have endeavour’d to represent variety of Humours 
(most of the persons of the Play differing in their 
Characters from one another) which was the practise 
of Ben Johnson , whom I think all Dramatick Poets ought 
to imitate, though none are like to come near; he 
being the onely person that appears to me to have 
made perfect Representations of Humane Life: most 
other Authors, that I ever read, either have wilde 
Romantick Tales , wherein they strein Love and Honour 
to that ridiculous height, that it becomes Burlesque; 
or in their lower Comoedies content themselves with one 
or two Humours at most, and those not near so perfect 
Characters as the admirable Johnson alwayes made, who 
never wrote Comedy without seven or eight consider¬ 
able Humours. I never saw one except that of Falstaffe 
that was in my judgment comparable to any of John¬ 
son’s considerable Humours: You will pardon this 
digression, when I tell you that he is the man, of all the 
World, I most passionately admire for his Excellency 
in Dramatick-Po^ry. 

He proceeds to uphold this view against the newer 
comedy of manners, with an obvious thrust at 
Dryden: 1 

I have known some of late so Insolent to say, that 
Ben Johnson wrote his best Playes without Wit; 
imagining, that all the Wit in Playes consists in bring¬ 
ing two persons upon the Stage to break Jests, and to 
bob one another, which they call Repartie, not con¬ 
sidering there is more wit and invention requir’d in 

* In his Essay of Dramatick Poesie, evidently published earlier in the 
same year, Dryden praises the witty fancy of Beaumont and Fletcher, 
whilst disparaging in some measure the humors of Jonson. 


3flturoDuctton 


XXXI 


the finding out good Humor, and matter proper for it, 
than in all their smart reparties. For, in the writing 
of a Humor, a Man is confin’d not to swerve from 
the Character, and oblig’d to say nothing but what is 
proper to it: but in the Playes which have been wrote 
of late, there is no such thing as perfect Character, 
but the two chief persons are most commonly a Swear¬ 
ing, Drinking, Whoring, Ruffian for a Lover, and an 
Impudent, ill-bred tomrig for a Mistress, and these 
are the fine People of the Play: and there is that 
Latitude in this, that almost anything is proper for 
them to say; but their chief Subject is bawdy, and 
profaneness, which they call brisk writing. . . . 

The contrast between the comedy of humors and 
the newer comedy of manners, as exemplified in 
Dryden’s The Wild Gallant and Etherege’s The 
Comical Revenge , is made to appear extremely obvi¬ 
ous; yet in Shadwell’s own plays the one regularly 
merges into the other, and many of his best scenes 
are those which reflect contemporary manners 
rather than those in which his humors present a 
world of abstract vices or follies. The newer comedy 
was influenced to some extent by the plays of 
Moliere, and it is significant that Shadwell indicates 
his own debt to the French dramatist. He points 
out that he has observed in his comedy the three 
unities of time, place, and action, and that he had 
endeavored to keep the scenes unbroken, which, 
he says, “among the French -poets is accompted a 
great Beauty.” It cannot be said that the action 
has any real unity: besides manifold intrigues, 
there is a want of design, as well as repetition of 


xxxu 


3|ntrotiuctton 


situation and dialogue, which the author himself 
“dare not absolutely deny/’ In regard to his more 
immediate debt to the French, he admits borrowing 
two scenes from Moliere’s Les Facheux (Paris, 1661); 
it has been shown that he owes something also to 
Le Misanthrope (Paris, 1666), and perhaps to Le 
Manage Force (Paris, 1664). 1 His precise debt 
cannot easily be analyzed, and it is probable that 
his plagiarisms amount to little more than certain 
hints and suggestions. Following the English 
tradition, he combines two or more plots, and intro¬ 
duces variety of incident. In so doing, and in his 
handling of the dialogue, he presents what is prac¬ 
tically a totally different type of comedy. His 
language rarely shows traces of Moliere’s refined 
and balanced prose. It is coarser, more colloquial, 
at the same time more natural and vigorous. Yet 
even in The Sullen Lovers passages may be found 
in which a conscious effort seems to be made toward 
a polished form of dialogue. These passages occur 
in the scenes in which Lovel and Carolina appear, 
two normal characters of the beau monde introduced 
by way of contrast to the humors of the play. Shad- 
well adopts this method regularly in his comedies, 
which thus on the one hand point back to the Jon- 
sonian comedy and on the other point forward to 

1 Cf. J. E. Gillet, Moliire en Angleterre, 1660-1700, 70-80, 163-165; 
Louis Charlanne, L’lnfluence Fran^aise en Angleterre au XVIIe Siecle, 
Part II, Chap. IX. Parallels have also been found in Shirley’s Love in 
a Maze, revived 1667-1668; A Trick to Catch the Old One, revived 
1662-1665, The Taming of a Shrew (revived as Sauny the Scot, 1667). 


^Introduction 


XXXlll 


the Congrevian type. Lovel and Carolina may be 
said to form one of a series of links between Beatrice 
and Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing — with 
their essential good sense underlying their “merry 
war” — and Mirabell and Millamant in The Way 
of the World — with their all but complete absence 
of moral feeling or sentiment. It is to be empha¬ 
sized, however, that the principal characters in 
The Sullen Lovers belong to the comedy of humors, 
whereas in the comedies of Etherege and Congreve 
humors are usually subordinate characters. Never¬ 
theless, it is by no means easy to draw a strict line 
between the two types of dramatic character: 
Falstaff, a preeminent humor according to Shadwell, 
is surely as living a personage as any of Dryden’s or 
Congreve’s creations; and of Sir Positive At-All 
in The Sullen Lovers it cannot be said that he repre¬ 
sents a mere abstraction, a personified idiosyncrasy. 
But the peculiar follies or vices of both these persons 
are said to be “natural,” whereas the distinguishing 
feature of the fashionable folk satirized in the com¬ 
edy of manners is said to be their “artificially” 
acquired follies. Shadwell himself, it is to be re¬ 
marked, does not differentiate between the two 
types. Thus Carolina is said to be “of the same 
humor with Lovel,” who is described as “an airy 
young gentleman, friend to Stanford, one that is 
pleased with and laughs at the impertinents.” 

What has been aptly termed “the Restoration 
battle between Wit and Humour” is well illus- 


XXXIV 


^Introduction 


trated in the prefaces of Dryden and Shadwell. 
Before the latter’s next comedy appeared, Dryden 
definitely challenged Shadwell’s theory in the 
preface to An Evening s Love . 1 He begins by express¬ 
ing his contempt for mere farce and low comedy, 
consisting chiefly of grimaces, forced humors, and 
unnatural events. Most recent comedies, he says, 
were really farces, and matters would not be im¬ 
proved so long as French plays were translated. 
Further, low comedy requires “much of conversa¬ 
tion with the vulgar and much of ill nature in the 
observation of their follies.” He then distinguishes 
between farce and comedy: 

Comedy consists, though of low persons, yet of natural 
actions, and characters; I mean such humours, adven¬ 
tures, and designes, as are to be found and met with 
in the world. Farce, on the other side, consists of 
forc’d humours, and unnatural events: Comedy pre¬ 
sents us with the imperfections of humane nature. 
Farce entertains us with what is monstruous and chimer¬ 
ical: the one causes laughter in those who can judge 
of men and manners; by the lively representation of 
their folly or corruption; the other produces the 
same effect in those who can judge of neither, and that 
only by its extravagances. The first works on the 
judgment and fancy; the latter on the fancy only: 
There is more of satisfaction in the former kind of 
laughter, and in the latter more of scorn. 

In the course of his exposition he says that comedy 
should have “neither so little of humour as Fletcher 


l T. C., February, 1671. 


^Introduction 


XXXV 


shows, nor so little of love and wit, as Johnson .” 
He defines wit as “sharpness of conceit,’' and in¬ 
sists that repartee is “the very soul of conversation.” 
He reproves those who satirize particular persons , 1 
disguised as humors, and reaffirms his opinion that 
the chief aim of comedy is “divertisement and 
delight”; that the business of the comic poet is 
“to make you laugh .” 2 As to humor, while 
admitting that Jonson was supreme in this field, 
he asserts that that dramatist has been overrated 
by certain “ingenious men, for whom I have a par¬ 
ticular esteem”; only in three or four of his come¬ 
dies has he performed it well, “the rest are but a 
Crambe bis cocta.” At the same time he avers that 
he himself would not attempt to imitate the master, 
for he wanted the necessary judgment, and “shou’d 
think it a great impudence in my self to attempt it.” 
Those critics who regard Jonson’s wit as extraordi¬ 
nary, “confound the notion of what is witty with 
what is pleasant”; and further, 

to entertain an Audience perpetually with Humour, 
is to carry them from the conversation of Gentlemen, 
and treat them with the follies and extravagances of 
Bedlam. . . . 

1 Alluding no doubt to the well-known identification of Sir Positive 
At-All with Sir Robert Howard, and of Ninny with Edward Howard. 

* In his Defence of an Essay of Dramatique Poesie (prefixed to the 
second edition of The Indian Emperor, 1668), Dryden had written “To 
please the people ought to be the Poets aim, because Plays are made 
for their delight ”; to which Shadwell had taken exception in his preface 
to The Royal Shepherdess, 1669, insisting that the dramatist should aim 
at moral instruction, “Virtue being exalted, and Vice depressed.” 


XXXVI 


3|ntroDuctton 


When he (the poet) writes humour, he makes folly ridicu¬ 
lous*, when wit, he moves you, if not alwayes to laughter, 
yet to a pleasure that is more noble. 

The comic dramatist may thus effect a cure indi¬ 
rectly and therefore more artistically than by insist¬ 
ing on the punishment of vice. 

In the preface to The Humorists published soon 
after 1 Shadwell gives a lengthy reply. First he 
restates his aim: 

My design was in it (the play), to reprehend some of 
the Vices and Follies of the Age, which I take to be 
the most proper, and most useful way of writing 
Comedy. . . . 

Here I must take leave to dissent from those, who 
seem to insinuate that the ultimate end of a Poet is 
to delight, without correction or instruction : Methinks 
a Poet should never acknowledge this, for it makes 
him of as little use to Mankind as a Fidler, or Dancing 
Master, who delights the fancy onely, without improv¬ 
ing the Judgement. . . . 

Here Shadwell plainly assigns to what Dryden 
had called farce the type of comedy which the latter 
considered the highest, the nonmoral comedy of 
manners. To Shadwell moral purpose must come 
first: 

I confess a Poet ought to do all that he can, decently 
to please, that so he may instruct. To adorn his 

1 T. C., May, 1671. There appears to be no record of performance, 
though on the Title Page it is said to have been acted “by his Royal 
Highnesses Servants,” i.e., the Duke of York’s Company at Lincoln’s 
Inn Fields. 


flntroHuctton 


XXXV11 


Images of Vertue so delightfully to affect people with 
a secret veneration of it in others, and an emulation 
to practice it in themselves : And to render their Figures 
of Vice and Folly so ugly and detestable, to make people 
hate and despise them, not onely in others, but (if it 
be possible) in their dear selves. . . . 

Shadwell then elaborates his notion of humors, 
incidentally repudiating the charge of representing 
real persons. While not denying that his characters 
are often those of “Fools, Knaves, Whores, or 
Cowards,” they cannot give offence to “any that 
are not eminently so.” Nevertheless, 

a humor (being the representation of some extrava¬ 
gance of Mankind) cannot but in some thing resemble 
some man or other, or it is monstrous, and unnatural. 

If the dramatist is not allowed to portray natural 
humors, there is little scope left for him but to 

retrieve the exploded barbarismes of Fool, Devil, 
Giant or Monster, or translate French Farces, which, 
with all the wit of the English, added to them, can 
scarce be made tollerable. 

Here again he contrives to turn Dryden’s phrase¬ 
ology against him. To Shadwell there can be no 
other type of drama than farce on the one hand, and 
the comedy of humors on the other. Fortunately 
his practice did not strictly conform to his theory. 

His third point is to dissent from the judgment 
of his “particular friend ” 1 (Dryden) on Ben Jon- 

1 Probably intended to be taken ironically; for Dryden had more 
than hinted at his contempt for his opponents, doubtless with special 


XXXV111 


3|ntroDuctton 


son. He maintains that his idol had more true wit 
than any of his contemporaries, whereupon he gives 
us his own definition of wit, very different from 
that of Dryden’s: 

wit in the Writer, (I think, without any Authority for 
it) may be said to be the invention of remote and 
pleasant thoughts of what kind so ever. 

Brilliant dialogue, the thrust and parry of quick 
tongues, the esprit of the French, that repartee 
which to Dryden was the “very soul of conversa¬ 
tion,” Shadwell dismisses as “brisk writing.” It 
is not surprising then that from Shadwell’s point 
of view Ben Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair is “one of the 
wittiest Plays in the World.” He concludes his 
preface by quoting from his epilogue his own defini¬ 
tion of a humor 

A Humor is the Biasse of the Mind, 

By which, with violence, ’tis one way inclined, 

It makes our actions lean on one side still, 

And, in all Changes, that way bends the Will. 

The reference to the “violence” of the effect recalls 
Dryden’s definition of Farce, as consisting of 
“forc’d humours.” 1 

The plot of The Humorists y which seems to be 

reference to Shadwell, prophesying that they would be remembered in 
after ages only for “that which makes them ridiculous in this.” Cf. also 
Dryden’s reference to “certain ingenious men, for whom I have a par¬ 
ticular esteem,” above p. xxxv. 

1 It seems probable that this epilogue was spoken before Dryden’s 
remark was made; otherwise it may be supposed that Shadwell used 
the term in defiance. 


31ntroQuctton 


XXXIX 


entirely original, mainly concerns the addresses of 
several fantastic persons to “a Lady of beauty and 
merit,” the exemplary Theodosia, who deludes 
each of them with false hopes, and in the end marries 
Raymund, “a Gentle man of wit and honour.” 
The principal “ humorists” — Crazy, Drybob, Brisk, 
and Sneake — are exaggerated particular aspects 
or qualities of typical characters of the time. A 
definite vein of that low comedy which Dryden 
had censured frequently appears, as where the 
maladies of Crazy are exhibited with intended 
ludicrous effect. 1 

Both Dryden and Shadwell seem to agree that 
French comedy is nothing but farce, but neither 
refrain from “improving” Moliere for the English 
stage. Shadwell’s next play, The Miser (T. R. in 
B. St. 24 January, 1672), 2 is an acknowledged bor¬ 
rowing from VAvare (Paris, 1668). He explains in 
his preface that as Moliere’s play had too few 
persons and too little action, he “added to both so 
much, that I may call more than half of this Play 
my own,” adding, in all innocence, 


1 Dryden probably aims at The Humorists in his prologue to The Con¬ 
quest of Granada, Part I: 

They thought you lik’d, what onely you forgave; 

And brought you more dull sence, — dull sence much worse 
Than brisk, gay Non-sence; and the heavyer Curse. 

.dull humour, all that chaffe, 

Which makes you mourn, and makes the Vulgar laugh. 

* T. C., June, 1672. 



xl 


3|ntroDuctton 


And I think I may say without vanity, that Moliere’s 
part of it has not suffer’d in my hands, nor did I ever 
know a French Comedy made use of by the worst of 
our poets, that was not better’d by ’em. ’Tis not bar¬ 
renness of wit or invention, that makes us borrow from 
the French but laziness. 

In the epilogue he has another fling at French 
comedy, illustrating once more his notion of wit: 

French plays in which true wit’s as rarely found 
As Mines of Silver are in English ground. 

In spite of the introduction of farcical humors — 
Rant and Hazard, “two gamesters of the Town,” 
and Squeeze, “a Scrivener” — and the inevitable 
coarsening of Moliere’s dialogue and characteriza¬ 
tion, the result of Shadwell’s treatment is by no 
means wanting in liveliness and interest. 

About May, 1672, appeared at L. I. F. Dryden’s 
Marriage a la Mode , which though belonging 
rather to the tragiromantic than to the Manners 
school, illustrates the treatment of the moral ques¬ 
tion in the manner of the latter as opposed to that 
of the humors comedy. The epilogue, spoken by 
Rhodophil, in suggesting that by exposing vices the 
“way of Reformation” is made plain, obviously 
hits at those plays written with a professedly moral 
purpose : Rhodophil entering the harbor of marriage 
after a career of debauchery thus shows the way: 

Not with dull Morals, gravely writ, like those, 

Which men of easie Phlegme, with care compose: 

Your Poets of stiff words, and limber sense, 


^Introduction 


xli 


Born on the confines of indifference 
But by examples drawn, I dare to say, 

From most of you, who hear, and see the Play. 

It has been pointed out that Shadwell himself 
could not wholly resist the growing tide in favor 
of the manners comedy; from the first he had intro¬ 
duced characters and scenes typical of the new form. 
But hitherto they had taken a strictly subordinate 
place in his comedies. It is somewhat surprising to 
find him, therefore, in the preface to The Humorists, 
passing judgment on Etherege’s She WoiTd if She 
Cou d (L. I. F., 6 February, 1668) as “the best Com¬ 
edy that has been written since the Restauration 
of the Stage/’ It is true that this opinion, which 
he says has “the authority of some of the best 
Judges,” is not given in connection with his theory 
of comedy, but merely as an example of a good play 
being damned on the first night owing to poor act¬ 
ing, as in the case of his own play. At the same 
time Etherege’s play is one of the best examples of 
the new comedy, probably the most perfect speci¬ 
men that had hitherto been produced, and there¬ 
fore affords a striking contrast to The Humorists. 
Shadwell’s admiration may be explained by referring 
to his personal regard for Etherege and deference 
to the opinion of Rochester, Sedley, and other 
members of the circle whom he met at the Rose 
and other taverns. 1 


1 See above, p. xi. 


xlii 


3|ntrotmctton 


Whatever the explanation may be, it is sig¬ 
nificant that in Epsom Wells , first acted at Dorset 
Garden Theatre December, 1672, Shadwell adopts 
for the first time the method of the new comedy by 
making his principal characters not mere humors 
but “Men of Wit and Pleasure” and “young Ladies 
of Wit, beauty and Fortune.” Raines and Bevil, 
Lucia and Carolina, belong to the comedy of Ether- 
ege and Congreve rather than to the Jonsonian 
comedy of which Shadwell was the chief exponent. 
They exhibit the general follies of fashionable so¬ 
ciety rather than the peculiar idiosyncrasies of 
humorous types. To the latter category belong the 
minor characters: Clodpate, Kick and Cuff, Mrs. 
and Mr. Bisket, Mrs. Fribble, and Mrs. Jilt. The 
practice of utilizing humors for the less important 
persons was followed by most of the exponents of the 
manners comedy. Even in The Way of the World 
the very names Fainall, Witwoud, Petulant, Foible, 
and Mincing indicate their “biasse of the mind”; 
while the characters of Mirabell, Millamant, Lady 
Wishfort, and Mrs. Marwood may be regarded as 
refined humors. The difference is one rather of 
degree than of kind. As in most comedies of man¬ 
ners, the plot is of little importance in Epsom Wells . 
The amorous intrigues of the leading personages 
with the ladies of the town, both married and 
unmarried, are carried on at the fashionable resort 
much in the same manner as they are in Sedley’s 
Mulberry Garden (T. R. in B. St., 18 May, 1668). 


31 ntroDuctton 


xliii 


Shirley’s Hyde Park (1637), which affords an interest¬ 
ing pre-Restoration parallel, was revived 14 July, 
1668. 1 In this comedy, however, the moral atmos¬ 
phere is far less free; in particular, the conven¬ 
tional view of marriage is accepted without ques¬ 
tion. The central theme ever recurring in the 
manners comedy is the duel of the sexes, the defi¬ 
ance of the conventional view of marriage, and the 
implicit acceptance of the equal rights of men and 
women in this sphere. Where Epsom Wells shows 
its inferiority to the best examples of the type is 
in its lack of consistency and firm outline. Except 
Clodpate, none of the characters stand out clearly 
delineated with those fine touches and delicate 
strokes which give vitality to Sir Fopling Flutter, 
to Mrs. Pinchwife, above all to Mirabell and Milla- 
mant. A still more serious defect is the unequal 
quality of the dialogue. Passages might easily 
be extracted which would bear comparison with some 
of the best of Etherege and Congreve, but it must 
be admitted that Shadwell’s average level of dialogue 
falls below that of those masters. On the other 
hand, his very want of brilliance in style makes his 
work more true to life. He excels in graphic realism 
and is prolific in those intimate, familiar touches 
which must have made keen appeal to his audiences 
and which lend a special flavor to his work to this 
day. Yet this same quality in the case of Epsom 

1 It is to be noted that most of the dialogue in this play is written in 
blank verse. 


xliv 


3|ntrotiuctton 


Wells tends to narrow his scope and universality of 
appeal. Here may be seen one reason why Epsom 
Wells has failed to achieve the lasting popularity 
and perennial interest of The Way of the World: 
its mise-en-scene is too strictly localized. The 
author of A History of Surrey , 1814, remarks that 
Epsom after the Restoration became the Brighthelm- 
stone (Brighton) of that day. The crowds of 
English people and foreigners who frequented it 
were far more mixed and cosmopolitan than those 
who took the longer journey to Bath or Tunbridge. 
In this connection it may be pointed out that the 
first prologue, written specially by Sir Charles 
Sedley, was addressed to the middle-class citizens 
who, no doubt, constituted the greater part of the 
audience, rather than to the gallants. An appeal 
is made to the latter that they should refrain from 
their habit of damning a play by imposing their 
own views on the rest of the audience : 

Judge for your selves, then Gallants as you pay, 

And lead not each of you his Bench astray: 

Let easie Citts be pleas’d with all they hear, 

Go home and to their Neighbours praise our Ware. 
They with good stomachs come, and fain wou’d eat, 
You nothing like, and make them loath their meat. 

The poet would be content if the critics would 
allow the rest of the audience to enjoy his comedy: 

But you kind Burgers who had never yet, 

Either your Heads or Bellies full of wit: 

Our Poet hopes to please; but not too well; 


JlntroDucttotx 


xlv 


Nor wou’d he have the angry Criticks swell. 

A moderate Fate best fits his humble mind, 

Be neither they too sharp, nor you too kind. 

Notwithstanding the dramatist’s modest ambition, 
his play proved to be very well received by all 
sections of the audience. 1 So much so that it was 
accorded the honor of being performed before the 
king and queen at Whitehall 27 December, 1673, 
and 20 February, 1680. For the first court per¬ 
formance a new prologue was written, presumably 
by Shadwell himself. After expressing pride at 
the honor accorded him, he repudiates the suggestion 
which had been made that the work was not entirely 
from his own pen : 

If this for him had been by others done, 

After this honour sure they’d claim their own. 

The suggestion may have been due to the unwonted 
prominence given to the men of wit and ladies of 
fashion in this play, with the corresponding subordi¬ 
nation of the regular humors. Moreover Sedley 
in his prologue had spoken of “our Ware,” as if he 
had collaborated in the composition. Dryden 
evidently held this belief when he wrote in Mac 
Flecknoe: 

But let no alien S-dl-y interpose 

To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose. 

i Cf. Downes, Roscius Anglicanus, 33, quoted hereafter. 


xlvi 


3|ntrotJuction 


Later in the same satire Dryden, referring to Shad- 
well’s master, Ben Jonson, asks, 

When did his Muse from Fletcher scenes purloin, 

As thou whole Eth’ridge dost transfuse to thine ? 1 

With regard to Sedley, there is no reason to suppose 
that he could have done more than give a few hints 
for certain scenes; his own comic muse, to judge 
from his known work, was not remarkably fertile 
or brilliant. The charge of plagiarizing from 
Etherege, however, has a certain foundation in fact; 
there is undoubtedly a general resemblance between 
the intrigues of Rains and Bevil, Lucia and Carolina, 
in Epsom Wells , and those of the corresponding 
quartet — Courtall and Freeman, Ariana and 
Gatty, in She Woud if She Coud (L. I. F., February, 
1668). 2 But similar parallels can be found prob¬ 
ably in the majority of Restoration plays. In the 
comedy of manners originality lay rather in clever 
adaptation of familiar situations to the needs of the 
plot as a whole; and still more in fresh turns and 
new variations in matters of detail. Brilliance of 
dialogue was more important than subtlety of char¬ 
acterization; unity and harmonious development 

‘Lines 163, 164; 183, 184 (quoted from J. Sargeaunt’s edition of 
Dryden’s poems). There is a reference to “Shad-well’s unassisted former 
Scenes,” as being insipid compared with those in which he received help, 
in Buckingham’s Timon, a Satyr (.Miscellaneous Works, 1704, p. 53), 
ca. 1677. Cf. also V. de Sola Pinto, Sir Charles Sedley, 107, 108. 

* Cf. G. R. Noyes, Poems of John Dryden, 261. 


introduction xlvii 

of plot of less significance than graphic realism of 
individual scenes. 

In Epsom Wells Shadwell points the moral not 
throughout the play in the obvious manner of the 
humors comedy, but only in the epilogue in a 
manner very similar to that adopted by Dryden in 
Marriage a la Mode. This comedy had ended in 
the marriage of the rake Rhodophil, but Shadwell 
dispenses even with this concession to conventional 
morality. He therefore feels constrained to point 
out in the epilogue his intention: 

By representing few ill Wives he wou’d 
Advance the value of the many good. 

Etherege, Wycherley, and Congreve were content 
to let the “moral” or the satirical purpose of their 
plays speak for itself; otherwise there is no observ¬ 
able difference between the attitude taken by Shad¬ 
well in this play and that taken by his more famous 
contemporaries and successors. 

There is no doubt that the success of Epsom Wells 
intensified Dryden’s jealousy of Shadwell; and it 
was further accentuated by the fact that St. Evre- 
monde singled out this play, in his essay De la 
Comedie Angloise for special mention with Ben 
Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair} Langbaine, indeed, 
says that the French critic ranked these plays “as 
two of our most diverting Comedies”; 2 but actu- 

i (Euvres Mtslits de M. De Saint Evremont, 1690, II, 577. 

* Op. cit., 446. 


xlviii 


2flutroDuction 


ally he cites them only as illustrations of the Eng¬ 
lish method of neglecting unity of action for the 
sake of variety of incident. Dryden was evidently 
annoyed at the mere mention of his rival’s play, for 
in his Character of St. Evremont , he says that the 
French writer gave “to some of our coarsest poets a 
reputation abroad, which they never had at home.” 1 
Before writing his next comedy Shadwell, as has 
already been seen, made various experiments in 
other kinds of drama which did not belong to his 
proper province and for which he openly expressed 
a certain contempt — his operatic version of The 
Tempest , Psyche , and The Libertine. In 1676 he 
reverted to the comedy of humors in The Virtuoso, 2 
produced at Dorset Garden on the 26 June. It is 
dedicated to the Duke of Newcastle and in the course 
of his address to his patron he writes 

I have endeavoured in this Play at Humor, Wit, and 
Satyr, which are the three things (however I may 
have fallen short in my attempt) which your Grace 
has often told me are the life of a Comedy. 

Whether he uses the term “ wit ” in the sense of his 
own definition as given above, or in the more mod¬ 
ern sense as used by Dryden, is not clear. He goes 
on to explain yet again his conception of humor, 
remarking 

1 Prose Works of John Dryden, ed. E. Malone, III, 69, 70. Cf. 
A. W. Ward, op. cit., Ill, 457, note 1. 

2 T. C., November, 1676. 


31 utroDucttou 


xlix 


Four of the Humors are entirely new; and (without 
vanity) I may say, I ne’r produced a Comedy, that 
had not some natural Humour in it not represented 
before, nor I hope ever shall. 

After ruling out affected language and natural im¬ 
perfections from the sphere of humor, he lays 
down that 

the Artificial folly of those, who are not Coxcombs by 
Nature, but with great Art and Industry make them¬ 
selves so, is a proper object of Comedy. . . . 

Here it is worth recalling Etherege’s description of 
Sir Fopling Flutter, that perfect example of the 
complete gentleman as understood by the manners 
school, “a Person of great acquired Follies.” But 
Shadwell diverges from the accepted meaning of 
affectation as applied to external manners, lan¬ 
guage, and gesture in the intercourse of men and 
women of fashion, describing it as that which 

misguides men in Knowledge, Art, or Science, or that 
causes defection in Manners, and Morality, or perverts 
their Minds in the main Actions of their lives. . . . 

He rejects, as being only fit for “some Women, and 
some Men of Feminine understandings,” those light 
plays that “represent a little tattle sort of Conversa¬ 
tion, like their own.” It is plain that he has reverted 
to his earlier manner after the Jonsonian model, 
and indeed he reiterates that he 

had rather be the author of one Scene in his (Jonson’s) 
best Comedies, than of any Play this Age has produced. 


1 


3f|ntroDuctton 


The Virtuoso , as might be expected after this expo¬ 
sition, presents as its leading personages humorous 
types, Sir Nicholas Gimcrack and Sir Formal Trifle 
and Sir Samuel Hearty, and Snarl, whose names 
are sufficient to suggest their idiosyncrasies; while, 
as in his earlier comedies of humors, the quartet 
of ladies and gallants, Longvil and Bruce, Miranda 
and Clarinda, take a subordinate place. Besides 
the sprightly dialogue of these personages, which 
approaches that characteristic of the comedy of 
manners, the portraits of “The Orator, a florid 
Coxcomb” and of the virtuoso are drawn with such 
verve as to give this comedy a living interest often 
wanting in the comedy of humors. 

Two years later, having meanwhile made Timon 
into “ a play”, 1 Shadwell produced The True Widow 2 
( ca . March, 1678), where again he singles out (in 
the dedication) the humorous characters as the 
chief objects of his satire: “a Bawd of Quality” 
(Lady Busy); “a vain Selfish ,” “a senseless noisie 
Prig ” — three characters “wholly new”; also two 
others “new in the greatest part”; Lump — “a 
methodical Blockhead, having only a form of Wis¬ 
dom,” and Young Maggot, “a Coxcomb that’s run 
mad after wit which uses him very unkindly, and 
will never be won by him.” To balance these ob¬ 
vious types Shadwell introduces two gentlemen 


1 See above, p. xxviii. 

2 T. C., May, 1679. Dedicated to Sedley, who, Shadwell says, gave 
it the benefit of his “ Correction and Alteration.” 


3|ntroDuctton 


ii 


of the town, a young lady of wit and fortune, and a 
young lady of wit and virtue. The last of these 
brings a new note of sentimentalism into ShadwelPs 
comedy, especially to be remarked in the scene 
where the intriguing Lady Busy tries to tempt her 
by innuendos to follow her own mode of life . 1 Isa¬ 
bella shows disgust at her suggestions. Another 
point of interest in this comedy is the burlesque 
farce introduced into Act IV, which Shadwell com¬ 
plains was not properly distinguished by the audi¬ 
ence from the rest of the play. 

The failure of The True Widow 2 and the next of 
ShadwelPs plays, The Woman Captain , may have 
been the reason why he refrained from writing 
regular comedy for several years. Not until his 
return, early in 1688, from his enforced retirement, 
did he again exhibit his skill in this sphere. In May 
of that year was produced at Drury Lane his Squire 
of Alsatia , one of the liveliest and most popular of 
his plays. Here again Shadwell presents the type 
of comedy “conforming to the Rules of Master 
Ben”; as many as a dozen of the characters are 
well-defined humors, and in addition there is the 
regular quartet of fashionable folk. The senti- 

1 Shadwell says in the same dedication that this scene “will live, 
when the stuff of such Scriblers (more fit for Drolls than Plays) shall 
be consumed in Grocery-ware, Tobacco, Band-boxes, and Hat-cases, 
and be razed out of memory of Men.” 

* Possibly owing to its exposure of the sin of “keeping,” which accord¬ 
ing to Dryden, damned his own Mr. Limberham, or the Kind Keeper, 
which had appeared at the same theater on 11 March, 1678. 


11 


31 ntroUuction 


mental element appears in the character of Sir 
Edward Belfond, “A man of great humanity and 
gentleness and compassion towards mankind/* 
and in the episode concerned with Lucia, “a young 
beautiful girl, of a mild and tender disposition/* 
The plot is largely borrowed from Terence’s Adelphi , 
but the main interest lies in its realistic picture of 
the notorious region of Alsatia (Whitefriars) and 
its success is said to have been largely due to the 
“cant” language freely used in the dialogue. 1 Once 
more the author insists that 

He to correct and to inform did write: 

If Poets aim at nought but to delight, 

Fidlers have to the Bays an equal right. 

The lesson this time was the use and abuse of 
education. 

In Bury Fair? D. L., ca. April, 1689, Shadwell 
dispenses with his long descriptions of the charac¬ 
ters in the list of dramatis personae, a practice car¬ 
ried to extremes in the previous play, and although 
most of the names sufficiently indicate their idio¬ 
syncrasies, the leading personages approach those 
associated with the comedy of manners. The play 
is partly based on Moliere’s Les Precieuses Ridicules , 
and much of the dialogue is of the Frenchified kind 

1 Shadwell thought it necessary to insert “ An Explanation of the Cant ” 
before the text. Scott, duly acknowledging his source, drew freely on 
this play for his pictures of Alsatia in The Fortunes of Nigel and in Peveril 
of the Peak. 

* T. C., June, 1689. 


iflntroDuctton 


liii 


affected by the beau monde. Shadwell has also 
borrowed certain scenes from the Duke of New¬ 
castle’s The Triumphant Widow (D. G., 1674) which, 
it seems probable, he had written himself for his 
patron. 1 In spite of a sentimental strain observable 
in this comedy, provided by the moralizing utter¬ 
ances of Lord Bellamy, the easy flow of the dialogue, 
its many passages of wit, and the general refinement 
of the humors make it rank with Epsom Wells as 
Shadwell’s nearest approach to the comedy of 
manners. 

The Scowrers , 2 which appeared at Drury Lane 
probably at the end of 1691, recalls The Squire of 
Alsatia in its “moral” and in the picture it gives of 
a class very similar to and largely identical with the 
Alsatians. Its professed aim was to expose the 
folly of those “Lady-Mothers” who coop up their 
daughters in order to keep them out of temptation; 
the Scowrers themselves belonged to a class known 
in Ben Jonson’s time as “angry” or “roaring boys,” 
and in Gay’s time as “Mohocks.” The leader of 
the crew, Sir William Rant, and his lieutenant, 
Wildfire, are toward the end converted from their 
wild ways at the instance of two virtuous ladies, 
Clara and Eugenia, whom they subsequently marry. 


1 Settle in the Preface to Ibrahim, 1677, accused Shadwell of inserting 
passages with the object of ridiculing The Empress of Morocco. Sir 
John Noddy and Justice Spoilwit of the earlier play are renamed Sir 
Humphrey Noddy and Oldwit in Bury Fair. 

2 T. C., February, 1692. 


liv 


^Introduction 


Here the growing tendency to the sentimentalism 
of the eighteenth century is plainly to be discerned. 1 

The Volunteers , or The Stock Jobbers , 2 was the last 
play of Shadwell’s to be published. It appeared at 
Drury Lane soon after the poet’s death, which 
occurred on the 19 or 20 November, 1692, 3 and was 
published in December of that year. Although 
Shad well had written his own prologue, it was 
stated that it was lost when the play was 
about to be acted, and so a new one, by Thomas 
D’Urfey, was substituted. The original prologue, 
however, was printed with the play, and it may be 
suggested that owing to the bitter scorn expressed 
for the audience it was thought imprudent to utter 
it on the stage. Shadwell complains that the audi¬ 
ence cared nothing for true comedy, written “ac¬ 
cording to the Laws of wit and commonsense”; 
but will accept only “towering bombast and creep¬ 
ing farce.” Fops alone are admired, and to them he 
surrenders: 

Our Poet yields to your most Sov’reign Sway, 

And does from you alone protection pray. 

The Wits and Criticks differ, and are few, 

You’re one and all, nothing can alter you : 

A numerous and uncorrupted Tribe: 

Whom Sense can ne’r perswade, nor Wit can Bribe. 

1 Cf. Nicoll, Restoration Drama, 197. * T. C., June, 1693. 

• See page xvi. The play was advertised in The London Gazette, 
15-19 December, 1692. In the obituary notice of Shadwell in The 
Gentleman’s Journal, November, 1692, it is stated that this comedy 
“was acted since his decease . . . and came off with reasonable 
success.” 


3fintroDuction 


lv 


In the new prologue D’Urfey praises the satire of 
the comedy, observing that only fools will apply 
it to themselves. At the same time he intimates 
that many of the audience, having so frequently 
felt the sting of his ridicule, were pleased that the 
dramatist was dead: 

A man may now get something by the Age, 

Without being Laugh’d at for’t upon the Stage, — 
Mon Dieu , cries Miss, as right as ever twang’d, 

These Rhiming Satyr Rogues should all be hang’d. 

I live by Law, a Protestant true blew, 

All Taxes pay, and am to Church so true, 

I make my Assignation in a Pew. 

A dedication to the queen had been drawn up by 
John Dennis on behalf of Shadwell’s widow, 1 but for 
some unexplained reason it was not printed with 
the play as it appears in Dennis’s letters. It is of 
interest as evidence that the poet to the last 
maintained the attitude of social reformer in his 
comedy: 

He has often told me (the widow) that the design of 
this comedy was to reclaim them (the degenerate folk 
of the time), if they were not incorrigible, and that 
what was writ, with such an immediate regard to your 
Majesty’s Service, should be dedicated to none but 
your Majesty. . . . 

Here a discrepancy may be remarked between the 
“surrender” to the fops mentioned in Shadwell’s 
prologue and the present tone of moral feeling, 
i Letters upon Several Occasions, 1696, 129. 


lvi 


3|ntrotmctton 


possibly due to the unusual circumstances, but more 
probably accounted for by regarding the Prologue as 
satirical. There is no doubt that Shadwell, no 
less than Wycherley, felt himself born “to lash this 
Crying Age.” 1 

It has been suggested that The Volunteers has 
“almost the appearance of having been written ear¬ 
lier and laid aside.” 2 This conjecture is supported 
by the fact that the sentimental element noted in 
the other late plays is here only faintly perceptible 
in the character of the virtuous and country-loving 
Eugenia. It may be observed, too, that the poet 
reverts in this play to his habit of giving little 
descriptions of the dramatis personae. On the 
other hand, the historical setting indicates that 
the date of composition cannot be earlier than 
1691, when popular enthusiasm for Marlborough’s 
army doubtless suggested the title of the play. 3 
It is worth noting that Macaulay, though elsewhere 
so harsh against Restoration comedy, commends 
the picture Shadwell presents of contemporary life 
in the present play. 4 He points out that in 1691, 
for the first time since Henry VIII laid siege to 
Boulogne, an English army appeared on the Conti¬ 
nent under the command of an English king: 

1 Prologue to Congreve’s Love for Love, 1695. 

* Nicoll, op. cit., p. 198. 

* In the epilogue, too, it is stated that the play was “The last and 
youngest Off-spring of his Brain.” 

4 History of England, ed. C. H. Firth, Vol. IV, pp. 2029-2030. 


3|ntroDuction 


lvii 


To volunteer for Flanders became the rage among the 
fine gentlemen who combed their flowing wigs and 
exchanged their richly perfumed snuffs at the St. 
James’s Coffeehouse. William’s headquarters were 
enlivened by a crowd of splendid equipages and by a 
rapid succession of sumptuous banquets. For among 
the highborn and highspirited youths who repaired to 
his standard were some who, though quite willing to 
fix a battery, were not at all disposed to deny them¬ 
selves the luxuries with which they had been surrounded 
in Soho Square. In a few months Shadwell brought 
these valiant fops and epicures on the stage. The town 
was made merry with the character of a courageous but 
prodigal and effeminate coxcomb, who is impatient to 
cross swords with the best men in the French household 
troops, but who is much dejected by learning that he 
may find it difficult to have his Champagne iced daily 
during the summer. 

In another place he commends the episode of the 
stockjobbers, in which “the hypocrisy and knavery 
of these speculators was, for the first time, exposed 
to public ridicule.” 1 

As to the play itself, many of the characters are 
drawn in ShadwelFs best style. The cavalier vet¬ 
eran, Major General Blunt, is skillfully contrasted 
with the Anabaptist Cromwellian Colonial Hack- 
well. Sir Nicholas Dainty, the effeminate volun¬ 
teer, and his foil, Sir Timothy Kastril, are equally 
well delineated portraits of the affected beau and the 
quarrelsome coward. Of the ladies, the virtuous 
Eugenia and her friend Clara are set off against 


1 Ibid., Vol. V, p. 2280. 


lviii 


JntroDuction 


Teresia and Winifred. As in Epsom Wells is 
exhibited a combination of the humors type and of 
the manners type of comedy, so in The Volunteers 
the nascent sentimental type is blended with the 
other two. Sir Nicholas Dainty is a new Sir Fopling 
Flutter in whom a certain restraint, absent in the 
earlier character, marks the changing fashion. 
Teresia and Winifred, similarly, are the new repre¬ 
sentatives of the young ladies of fashion. The 
scenes in which Eugenia and Clara, Welford and 
Young Hackwell appear, might almost have been 
written for an eighteenth-century comedy. Other 
characters more obviously recall the earlier comedy 
of humors. The whole play is an excellent example 
of Shadwell’s originality and skill in portraying 
scenes of actual life, in character drawing, and in 
adapting his methods to new conditions. Inspired 
professedly on the comedy of Ben Jonson, his work 
reveals a fresh vitality, his humors are invested 
with a greater human interest than his master’s 
stiffly drawn figures usually possess, whilst his dia¬ 
logue is more natural and spontaneous than either 
Jonson’s or Congreve’s. 

The epilogue to The Volunteers , by a writer who 
has not been identified, affords a striking testimony 
to Shadwell’s reputation and powers as a dramatist. 
He is acclaimed as ‘‘the great Support o’ th’ Comtek 
Stage f Born to expose the Follies of the Age.” His 
satire unites “Mirth with Instruction , Profit with 
Delight .” No doubt allowance has to be made for 


■JntroDuctton 


lix 


the circumstances in which the epilogue was written, 
when Shadwell is proclaimed 

For large Ideas and a flowing Pen, 

First of our Times, and second but to Ben; 

Whose mighty Genius and discerning Mind, 

Trac’d all the various Humours of Mankind. 

Yet it must be allowed that in range of humors he 
was without rival in his time; indeed, in versatility 
and in powers of observation and comic invention 
even Dryden suffers in comparison. From a purely 
literary point of view, however, his work is often 
inferior to that poet’s as well as to Ben Jonson’s. 
His best comedies, too, exhibit a carelessness and 
coarseness of expression, lack of finesse, and ca- 
denced rhythm of language which mark them off 
from the finest examples of the school of manners. 
The extreme license of some of the dialogue, again, 
contrasted with the reiterated profession of moral 
purpose, tends to produce a jarring effect on modern 
readers. It is perhaps hardly necessary to stress 
the fact that the outspokenness of his language was 
not considered reprehensible in his age, and, indeed, 
in this respect, it is as irrelevant to censure him as 
the writers of the ancient classical comedy, or 
Shakespeare and the Elizabethans. In this connec¬ 
tion, it is somewhat remarkable that Jeremy Collier 
in his A Short View of the Immorality and Profane¬ 
ness of the English Stage , 1698, omits Shadwell from 
his account of the licentious authors of the period. 


lx 


31 ntro&uctton 


On the other hand, it is possible that Collier recog¬ 
nized the moral purpose of Shadweil’s satire. 1 The 
writer of the obituary notice in the Gentleman’s 
Journal certainly held that this purpose was ade¬ 
quately fulfilled: 

His Works are so universally known, particularly his 
Comedies, that none can be a Stranger to his Merit; 
and all those that love to see the Image of humane 
Nature, lively drawn in all the various Colours and 
Shapes with which it is diversified in our age, must 
own that few living have equall’d that admirable Master 
in his Draughts of Humours and Characters. ’Tis 
true that his greatest excellence lay in treating Comic 
Subjects. . . . His Genius was inexhaustible on those 
sorts of matters: Neither were its Productions less use- 
full than diverting; since the best way to reform us is, 
to lay before us our Faults; thus observing Horace’s 
Rule; which the Comic Glass doth often: And so, 
even those whose Characters he hath wrote are oblig’d 
to him; for by showing the Picture of Avarice, he hath 
sham’d Misers into Liberality: by exposing Bullying 
Sparks and Prodigal Squires, he hath made the first 
tamer and the other wiser; how many contented 
Cuckolds has he not hindered from taking their Gloves, 
and going out, when their Wives Gallants came in, to 
visit them ? how many Maids hath he not sav’d from 
ruin by the Pictures of that in others ? how many 
Hypocrites, Coquetts, Fops, Gamesters, has he not 
reclaim’d ? and, in short, what store of Fools and 
Madmen did he not reform ? 

1 Collier censures Dryden for neglecting the didactic aspect of comedy, 
adding in Shadwell’s manner “The exposing of Knavery, and making 
Lewdness ridiculous, is a much better occasion for Laughter. And this 
with submission I take to be the end of Comedy” (Op. cit., 156.) 


3|ntrotmction 


lxi 


Whether this latter aspect of his work really ap¬ 
pealed to the majority of his audience is perhaps of 
little importance; by most modern readers it will 
certainly be ignored; his merits as a dramatist must 
stand or fall by the truthfulness of his descriptions, 
by the liveliness of his dialogue, above all by his 
skill in plot construction and characterization. 



Cpjsom oaelljs 


TEXT 


The text of Epsom Wells here followed is that of the British 
Museum copy of the first edition, published in 1673 (advertised 
in the Term Catalogue for May of that year). This is undoubt¬ 
edly the most authoritative text, and that it had been carefully 
revised may be judged from the fact that a list of errata, twenty- 
two in number, is given on the last page. In the present text 
these errors have been duly corrected, the original readings being 
given in the footnotes. Successive editions appeared in 1676, 
1693, 1704, and finally, in Volume II of the Works issued in 
four duodecimo volumes in 1720. The variants in these later 
editions are remarkably few in number, apart from mere differ¬ 
ences in spelling, in the use of capitals, and in punctuation. 

Whilst it is unlikely that Shadwell took the trouble to revise 
the later quartos, the textual variations may be of some value 
as indicating stage usage. As regards the 1720 text, Montague 
Summers in his recent edition of Shadwell’s works more than 
once expresses the opinion that it is worthless. The present 
editor, however, has found that this text shows every sign of 
having been carefully prepared. Misprints overlooked in pre¬ 
vious editions have been corrected, the use of italics and small 
roman type is occasionally adopted for greater clearness, and the 
punctuation is more consistent than in the quartos. Its most 
obvious distinguishing feature, in fact, appears in the more 
modem spelling and punctuation. 

Minor changes of punctuation have been made occasionally, 
in the present text, in conformity with modern use; in the great 
majority of cases these have the authority of one or more later 
editions. 


ABBREVIATIONS 

Qi Quarto, 1673. 

Q2 Quarto, 1676. 

Q3 Quarto, 1693. 

Q4 Quarto, 1704. 

Qq agreement of Q2, Qj, and Q 4 . 
D Duodecimo, 1720. 

E Errata appended to Qi. 
lxiv 


SOURCES 


Shadwell does not appear to have been directly indebted to 
any particular source for this comedy. He evidently wrote it 
as the result of his own observations of the manners both of the 
beau monde and of the citizens who resorted to the wells at Epsom. 
Charles Dibdin, in A Complete History of the Stage, 1800, IV, 
181-182, says, “The author had Jonson’s Bartholomew Fair in 
view, to which comedy it has been preferred, but it cannot, 
however, be said to have been stolen from it.” The association 
of these two comedies was no doubt due to St. Evremonde’s 
remarks. (See Introduction, page xlvii.) As a realistic comedy 
of contemporary manners Epsom Wells shows greater affinity 
to such earlier Restoration examples as Sedley’s The Mulberry 
Garden (T. R. May, 1668) and Etherege’s She Wou'd if She 
Cou'd (L. I. F. February, 1668). In particular, a rough parallel 
may be noted between the intrigues of Courtall and Freeman, 
Ariana and Gatty, in the latter play, and those of Bevil and 
Rains, Lucia and Carolina in Shadwell’s comedy. For the 
flagellating episode in Act IV Shadwell may have taken the 
hint from Moliere’s Le Medecin Malgre Lui (Paris, 1666), Act I. 
(Cf. Allardyce Nicoll, Restoration Drama, 175.) 


lxv 






































































% 






































- 






















. 










. 





































































































* B 

























. 


■ 





Epfom-WeUs. 

A 

COMEDY, 

A&ed at the 

DUKE'S THEATRE. 


Written by 

THO. S HJ“DWELL. 


M tyd\a)i 2Zm\i<$-aJveu' d/udflnfxct ivytves- 


LICENSED, Feb. 17 . 167 I 

Roger L'Ejlrange. 


LONDON , 

Printed by J. M. for Henry Herringman at the Sign of the 
Slew Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 

M. DC. LXXIII. 







To his Grace the 
Duke of NEW-CASTLE, fcfc. 

May it please your Grace , 

Your Grace has by so many and extraordinary 
S favours so entirely made me your own, that I can¬ 
not but think what ever is mine is so. This makes 
me bold to present you with this Comedy, which the 
Town was extremely kind to, and which I confess 
I am more fond of than of any thing I have ever 
io wrote, and therefore think my self obliged to dedi¬ 
cate it to your Grace, since whatever I can value 
most among my small Possessions is your due. 
And though the return be in no measure proportion- 
able to the obligations I have received; yet I hope 
15 I shall not be thought ungrateful, since I offer the 
best I have to your Grace: who I think I may say 
are the only Mcecenas of our Age, I am sure the 
only one that I can boast of. 

You are he who still preserves and maintains the 
20 Magnificence and Grandeur of our ancient Nobility; 
and being one that’s truly great in Mind as well as 
Fortune, you take delight in the rewarding and 


12. small [omitted in Q4, D]. 


(Bptetle HDe&tcatorp 


3 


encouraging of Art and Wit: And while others 
detract from Poetry, or at least neglect it, your 
Grace not only encourages it by your great Example, 
but protects it too. Welbeck is indeed the only 
place where the best Poets can find a good reception. 
Your Grace well understanding their noble Science, 
and admiring it, while some men envy it, and others 
are grosly ignorant of it; and indeed none but the 
latter can slightly esteem it, who commonly are 
solid Block-heads, that value business and drudgery, 
which every industrious Fool is capable of before 
refined Wit and Sence. It is a certain sign of a 
sordid and foolish Age, when Poetry is depressed, 
men, by reason of their folly and loosness of Man¬ 
ners, either not caring to imitate the generous 
Characters represented by it, or fearing the Satyr 
of it. 

Your Grace is above the imitating of generous 
Characters, made by Poets, being your self an 
Original which they can but faintly copy, nor are 
you less for your Greatness, Wisdom, and Integrity 
above their Satyr. So that your Grace is fitly 
qualified in all particulars for the support of poor 
neglected Poetry. Your Excellence in the Art is 
enough to keep up the Dignity of it, and your 
Greatness to encourage and protect it. And 
accordingly your Grace does so magnificently ex¬ 
tend your favours to the Poets, that your great 
Example is enough to attone the neglect of all the 
Nation, and among all whom your Grace has obliged, 


25 

30 

35 

40 

45 

50 


4 


(Epistle SDeoitatorp 


there is none shall be more ready upon all occasions 
to testifie his Gratitude, than, 

55 My Lord , 

Your Graces most obedient , 

humble Servant , 
Tho. Shadwell. 


Prologue written by Sir C. S. 

Poets and Thieves can scarce he rooted out, 

Scape ne* re so hardly , they*ll have th* other bout; 

Burnt in the hand the Thieves fall tot agen , 

And Poets hist y cry they did so to Ben —: 

Like Boys , who have at School too oft been stript , 5 

They have no feeling in the part that*s whipt. 

They re for your pity , not your anger , fit , 

They* re e*en such fools , they wou*d be thought t*have wit. 
Elsewhere you all can flatter , why not here; 

Youll say you pay y and so may be severe: 10 

Judge for your selves then Gallants as you pay y 
And lead not each of you his Bench astray: 

Let easie Citts be pleas*d with all they hear y 
Go home and to their Neighbours praise our Ware. 

They with good stomachs come y and fain wou*d eat y 15 
You nothing like , and make them loath their meat. 
Though some men are with Wine , Wit y Beauty cloy*d y 
The Creatures still by others are enjoy*d. 

*Tis not fair Play y that one for his Half Crown 
Shoud judge y and rail , and damn for half the Town. 20 
But do your worst; if once the Pit grows thin y 
Your dear lov*d Masks will hardly venture in. 

Then w*are reveng*d on you y who needs must come 


23. w'art. D, we’re. 

5 


6 


prologues 


Hither , to shun your own dull selves at home: 
2 5 But you kind Burgers who had never yet , 
Either your Heads or Bellies full of wit: 

Our Poet hopes to please; hut not too well; 
Nor wou’d he have the angry Criticks swell. 

A moderate Fate best fits his humble mind , 

30 Be neither they too sharp , nor you too kind. 


Prologue to the King and Queen, spoken at 
Whitehall. 

Poets and Souldiers used to various chance , 

Cannot expect they should each day advance; 
Sometimes their Wreaths they miss , sometimes obtain; 
But whensoe y re one luckie hit they gain , 

5 Loudly the triumphs of that day they boast, 

And ne’re reflect on all their Battels lost , 

So , Royal Sir , the Poet of this nighty 
Since he contributed to your delight , 

No thoughts of former losses does retain , 

10 But boasts that now he has not livd in vain: 

His tide of joy will to ambition swell , 

He that would think his whole life managed welly 
Once pleasing him — 

T’whom all the labours of our lives are due y 
15 Has now liv d twice , since he has twice pleas'd you. 


14. labours. Q2, Q4, D, pleasures. Q3, labours. 


KDrologues 


7 


* j If this for him had been by others done , 

\ After this honour sure they d claim their own. 

Yet , to compleat his wishes , does remain 
This new addition , which he hopes to gain, 

That you , the other glory of our Isle y 
Would grace his labours with your Royal smile. 
Though he has faults , yet y Madam y you will save 
The Criminal your Royal Lord forgave; 

And that indulgence he will much prefer 
To all tti applauses of the Theater. 

A common Audience gives but common praise y 
Th* applause of Princes must confer the Bays. 

* These two Lines were writ in answer to the calumny 
of some impotent and envious Scriblers, and some indus¬ 
trious Enemies of mine, who would have made the Town 
and Court believe, though I am sure they themselves did 
not, that I did not write the Play; but at last it was found 
to be so frivolous a piece of malice, it left an impression 
upon few or none. 

8. [Footnote omitted Q«. D.] 


Dramatis Personae 


Rains , Bevil, Woodly, Men of Wit and Pleasure. 
Clodpate , A Country Justice, a publick, spirited, 


5 

politick, discontented Fop, an immoderate 
hater of London, and a lover of the Coun¬ 
try above measure, a hearty true English 
Coxcomb. 

Toby, 

Kick 

Cuff, 
io Bisket, 

Clod'pate's Man. 

1 Two cheating, sharking, cowardly 
J Bullies. 

A Comfit-maker, a quiet, humble, civil 
Cuckold governed by his Wife, whom he 
very much fears and loves at the same 
time, and is very proud of. 

Fribble, 

15 

A Haberdasher, a surly Cuckold, very 
conceited, and proud of his Wife, but pre¬ 
tends to govern and keep her under. 

Mrs. Woodly, 

Two Country Fellows. Foot-boy. 

Woodly s Wife, Jilting, unquiet, trouble- 
som, and very Whorish. 

20 Lucia, 

Carolina, 

Mrs. Bisket, 

1 Two young Ladies of Wit, beauty, and 
J Fortune. 

An impertinent imperious Strumpet, 
Wife to Bisket. 


Dorothy Fribble, Wife to Fribble , an humble submitting 
25 Wife who Jilts her Husband that way, a 


Mrs. Jilt , 

very Whore. 

A silly affected Whore that pretends to 
be in Love with most men, and thinks 

30 

most men in Love with her, and is always 
boasting of Love-Letters and mens 
favours, yet a Pretender to Vertue. 


Peg , Her Sister, Mrs. Woodly s Maid. 

Parson, Hectors, Constable and Watch, and Fiddlers. 

2 . publick, spirited. Q3, Qi, publick spirited. D, publick-spirited. 
8 


Cpjsom mzllfi 

ACT I. SCENE I. 

Enter Mrs. Woodly, Bisket, Mrs. Bisket, Fribble and his 
Wife , Kick, Cuff, Dorothy and Margaret; to Toby and 
othersy drinking at the Wells. 

Bisk . I Vow it is a pleasurable Morning; 
the Waters tast so finely after being fudled last 
Night. Neighbour Fribble , here’s a Pint to 
you. 

Fribb. I’ll pledge you Mr. Bisket , I haves 
drunk eight already. 

Mrs. Bisk. How do the Waters agree with 
your Ladyship ? 

Mrs. Wood. Oh Soveraignly; how many 
Cups are you arriv’d to ? io 

Mrs. Bisk. Truly six, and they pass so 
kindly — 

Mrs. Wood. ’Tis a delicious Morning. 


a. fudled. D, fuddled. 
9 


IO 


epsorn Mells 


[Act I 


Cuff. Honest Kick , how is it ? you were 
15drunk last night; I was so, and was damnably 
beaten. 

Kick. I was drunk, Ned Cuff , and was not 
beaten, but beat; I am come to wash away 
my Claret, but you’l scarce wash away your 
20 black Eye. 

Mrs. Fribb. I am glad to see your Ladyship 
this Morning, you look so fresh and fair; my 
service to you, Madam. 

Kick. How the white Aprons scuttle, and 
25leap, and dance yonder; some of ’em are 
dancing the Hey. 

Kick. Many a London Strumpet comes to 
Jump and wash down her unlawfull Issue, to 
prevent shame ; but more especially charges. 

30 Cuff. Others come hither to procure Con¬ 
ception. 

Kick. Ay Pox, that’s not from the Waters, 
but something else that shall be nameless. 

Cuff. I have a great mind to run roaring in 
35 amongst ’em all. 

Kick. Thou hadst as good fling thy self 
among the Lyons in the Tower when they are 
fasting. They’ll tear thee in pieces, but wee’l 
have a course as they are going from the 
40 Wells. 


Scene I] 


Cpsom OTelte 


ii 


Cuff. Agreed: we seldom use to miss of 
some kind good body to supply our necessities 
that way. 

Fribb. Is your Ladyships Coach here ? 

Mrs. Wood. It goes before, I’ll follow it on 45 
foot for the pleasure of the walk. 

Mrs. Bisk. Madam, good Morrow, have 
your Ladyships Waters pass’d well ? 

Mrs. Wood. Yes wonderfully, FI be going. 

[Exit Mrs. Wood. 

Bisket. Mr. Kick , and Mr. Cuff , good Mor- 50 
row to you, we shall have you at the Bowling- 
Green in the afternoon. 

Kick. I play on your side. 

Bisk. I know it, and I’l lay all I am worth 
on’t. ’ 55 

Kick. I hope he will, Cuff, that we may 
mine him. 

Fribb. And I am on my Neighbour Biskets 
side, all I can rap and rend. 

Cuff. Let’s be sure to bet all we can. 1 60 
have known a great Bowler, whose better’s 
place was worth above 200 l. a year without 
venturing a farthing for himself. 

Kick. They begin to go homewards, let’s 
be gone. 65 

[Exeunt] 


12 


CEpstont Wells! 


[Act I 


Enter Raines and Bevil. 

Bev. Jacky how is’t this Morning ? we are 
late, the Company is going from the Wells; 
how does thy last nights work agree with thee ? 

Raines. Whether that agrees with me or 
70no, I am resolv’d to agree with that; for no 
distemper can trouble me that comes from so 
generous a Cause, as lusty Burgundy , and good 
Company. 

Bev. Thou art i’the right, we should no 
75 more be troubled at the Feavers we get in 
drinking, than the Honourable wounds we 
receive in Battle. 

Raines. ’Tis true, the first are the effects 
of our pleasure, and the last of our honour; 
80 which are two things absolutely necessary to 
the life of a Gentleman. 

Bev. Yet your dull spleenatick sober Sots 
will tell you, we shorten our lives, and bring 
Gouts, Dropsies, Palsies, and the Devil and 
85 all upon us. 

Raines. Let ’em lye and preach on, while 
we live more in a week, than those insipid- 
temperate-fools do in a year. 

Bev. We like subtle Chymists extract and 

82. spleenatick. Qj, Q4, spleenetick. Q3, D, splenetick. 


Scene I] 


d£p$om OTelte 


13 


refine our pleasure; While they like Fulsomgo 
Galenists take it in gross. 

Raines. I confess, a disorder got by Wine 
in scurvy company, would trouble a man as 
much as a Clap got of a Bawd; but there are 
some women so beautiful, that the pleasure 95 
would more than ballance the disaster. 

Bev. And as your honest Whore-master 
makes haste to his cure only to be at it again; 
so do we take Pills and the Waters to prepare 
us for another heat. 100 

Raines. For my part I hate to hoord up a 
great stock of health, as Misers do Gold, and 
make no use on’t: I am resolv’d to lay it out 
upon my Friends as far as ’twill go; and if I 
run my self out, I’ll be a good Husband for a 105 
while to lay it out again when I have it. 

Bev. But, Jack , there are duties to our she, 
as well as he-neighbours, which the Dull, 
Grave, and Wise say, is lighting our Candle 
at both ends. no 

Raines. Let ’em be light at both ends. Is 
it not better to let life go out in a blaze than 
a snuff? 

Bev. I see thou art a brave fellow, and not 
to be mov’d by the formal Fops of this world. 115 

101. hoord. Q2, Q«, D, hoard. 


(Epsom ©Hells 


[Act I 


14 


Raines. I will converse with grave fellows 
in their Books; but with such as thou art 
over a bottle Ned. But where’s Woodly this 
morning ? I warrant he was drunk last night, 
i2o and has had a tedious lecture from his Imperti¬ 
nent Wife; who impudently rails at him, as she 
says, because she loves him. 

Bev. He’s an honest fellow, and ventures 
hard when he drinks with us; for to say truth, 
125 she’s a damn’d Wife, but a very good Mistress. 

Raines. Art not thou a Villain to Cuckold 
this honest fellow and thy friend, Ned? 

Bev. Gad it’s impossible to be a man of 
honour in these Cases. But my intrigue with 
130 her began before my Friendship with him, and 
so I made a friend of my Cuckold, and not a 
Cuckold of my friend. 

Rains. An admirable School distinction. 

Enter Woodly. 

Wood. Raines and Bevil, good Morrow to 
13s you. 

Rains. O Frank Woodly , where wer’t thou 
last night ? you scap’d a bloody night on’t. 

Wood. Faith, Rains , there is no scaping, a 
Coward may be kill’d as well as a brave man; 

136. wer't. D, wert. 


Scene I] 


<H;psom OTelte 


i5 


I ran away from you but to little purpose. 140 
See how my hand shakes this Morning. 

Rains. O let me kiss that hand; he must 
be an illustrious Man whose hand shakes at 22. 

Wood. You are pleas’d to say so, but faith 
I take pains and live as fast as I can, that’s 145 
the truth on’t. 

Bev. Thou art in the right, and a Pox on 
them that live slowly, lazily, and soberly. I 
love riding Post in a Journey, I hate a damn’d 
dull Carriers pace. 150 

Wood. But I was in damn’d Company 
with that publick-spirited Fool, and Country 
Justice, Mr. Clodpate , and one or two as bad. 

Bev. Thou art often seduc’d by Fools, 
Frank; have a care of ’em I say, have a care 155 
of ’em. 

Rains. He Counsels you well; for conver¬ 
sation is to the mind, as the air we live in is to 
the body; in the good we by degrees suck in 
health, and in the ill Diseases. Wit is improv’d 160 
in good Company; but there is a Contagion 
in Folly, that insensibly insinuates into one that 
often converses with Fools, let his constitution 
of mind be never so good. 

Bev. But Clodpate is a Clownish-Country 165 
Fool. The Murrain among Cattle is not 


16 (Epsom OTells [Act I 

infectious to men, nor can his blunt folly ever 
insinuate it self into an honest debauchee. 

Enter Clodpate, and Toby. 

Rains. Here he comes, let’s observe him a 
170 little. 

Clodp. Did you call upon my Cozen Spatter- 
Brain for that Interest money due to me this 
Midsummer ? 

Toby. I have, Sir, every day since he came 
175 to Epsom , and yesterday he said upon his 
Honour he would pay me, and went immedi¬ 
ately to London. 

Clodp. Honour, a Pox on his Honour, PI 
sooner trust the honour of a Country Horse- 
180 Courser, than one of the Publicans and Sinners 
of that odious Town. They never pay so much 
as a Taylors-Bill till it comes to Execution : 
But PI have Spatter-Brain by the back the next 
Tearm, though he be my Sisters Son. But 
185 how does my dapple Mare ? 

Toby. She’s much discontented to hear her 
Neighbours Whiney over their Oats and 
Beans, while she is fain to mortify with a poor 
lock of Hay. 

183. n. D, i’ll. 

184. Tearm. Qq. D.Term. 

187. Whiney. D, Whinny. 


Scene I] 


(Epsom Wells 


17 


Clodp. You Rogue, you wou’d have her as 190 
fat, and as foggy, as my Landlady the Hostess. 

I care not what I spend amongst my Neighbours 
in Sussex , but I’d not have a Rogue so near that 
damn’d Town of London get a farthing by me. 

Wood. Besides some dull Encomiums upon 195 
a Country life, and discourse of his serving the 
Nation with his Magistracy, popularity, and 
House-keeping, you see the best and worst of 
him. 

Bev. But is his hatred to London so invet- 200 
erate as is reported ? 

Wood. Six times more. Since ’twas burnt 
he calls it nothing but Sodom; he is such a 
Villain, he swears the Frenchman that was 
hang’d for burning on’t was a Martyr; he 205 
was so glad at the burning of it, that ever 
since he has kept the second of September 
a Festival; he thinks a Woman cannot be 
honest, scarce found, that comes within 
the smell on’t; he is shock’d at the very 210 
name on’t. 

Bev. I have heard that the reasons of his 
hatred, are, because he has been beaten, clapt, 
and cheated there. 

Rains. Pox on him, he has found us, and 215 
there’s no avoiding him. 


i8 


d£p$om MHte 


[Act I 


Clodp. O Mr. Woodly , how is it ? You 
drink no Waters; but have you had your 
other Mornings draught yet ? 

220 Wood. Yes, I never leave off my Evenings 
draught till it becomes my Mornings draught. 

Clodp. Mr. Rains and B evilly gad save ye; 
how de’e like the Country ? is’t not worth a 
hundred of old Sodom yonder ? good Horses, 
225 good Dogs, good Ale, hah — 

Rains. Good Wine, good Wit, and fine 
Women, may I take it, compare with them. 

Clodp. I find you’l never leave that place of 
sin and sea-coal: give me drink for all that, 
230 that breeds no Gout; a wholsom plain Wench, 
that will neither bring my body to the Surgeons 
hands, nor my Land to the Scrivners: and 
for Wit, there is such a stir amongst you, who 
has it, and who has it not, that we honest 
235 Country Gentlemen begin to think there’s no 
such thing, and have hearty Mirth and good 
old Catches amongst us, that do the business 
every whit as well. 

Rains. He’s in the right. The Wits are 
240 as bad as the Divines, and have made such 
Civil Wars, that the Little Nation is almost 
undone. 

239—242. The wits . . . undone, [inserted from, E; omitted in Q3]. 


Scene I] 


<Q;p£om OTelte 


19 


Clodp. But Mr. Woodly , how do you like 
my Dapple Mare ? 

Wood. Not comparable to a Hackney 245 
Coach. 

Clopd. But she shall run with e’re a Hackney 
Coach in England for all that, or e’re a Horse 
in your stable, weight him and inch him. 

Wood. I would not keep a running horse, 250 
though a running horse would half keep me. 

Bev. We are for London to morrow; shall 
we have your company ? 

Clodp. Ud’s bud, I go to London! I am 
almost sick at Epsom , when the wind sits to 255 
bring any of the smoak this way, and by my 
good will would not talk with a man that comes 
from thence till he hath ayr’d himself a day or 
two. 

Wood. Why, there’s no Plague. 260 

Clopd. There’s Pride, Popery, Folly, Lust, 
Prodigality, Cheating Knaves, and Jilting 
Whores; Wine of half a crown a quart, and 
Ale of twelve pence, and what not. 

Rains. This is a terrible regiment you have 265 
muster’d; but neither the Priests nor the 
Women will ravish you; nor are you forc’d 


247. e're. Q3, D, e’er. 

256. smoak [from E; orig. wind]. 


20 


(Epsom Wells 


[Act I 


to take the Wine, as the French are their Salt; 
there are twelve penny Ordinaries. 

270 Clodp. Ay, and Cards and false Dice, and 
Quarrels, Hectors and reform’d Officers to 
borrow a Crown, and beat a man that refuses 
it, or asks for’t again; besides, I’le sum you 
up the beastly pleasures of the best of ye. 

275 Wood . What are those ? 

Clodp. Why, to sit up drunk till three a 
clock in the morning, rise at twelve, follow 
damn’d French Fashions, get dress’d to go to 
a damn’d Play, choak your selves afterwards 
280 with dust in Hide-park, or with Sea-coal in 
the Town, flatter and fawn in the drawing 
room, keep your Wench, and turn away your 
Wife, Gods-ooks. 

Bev. The Rogue is a tart and witty whorson. 
285 Clodp. I was at Sodom at eighteen, I thank 
’em, but now I serve my Country, and spend 
upon my Tenants what I get amongst them. 

Rains. And so, indeed, are no better than 
their Sponge, which they moisten only to 
290 squeeze again. But what important service 
do you do your Country ? 

Clodp. S’bud I — why I am Justice of 
Quorum in Sussex , and this County too, and I 
make the Surveyors mend the High ways; I 


Scene I] 


4£p0om Mlrils 


21 


cause Rogues to be whipt for breaking fences 29s 
or pilling trees, especially if they be my own; 

I swear Constables and the like. 

Bev. But is this all ? 

Clodp. No: I call Over-seers for the Poor 
to an account, sign Rates, am a Game-keeper, 300 
and take away Guns and Greyhounds, bind 
fellows to the Peace, observe my monthly 
Meeting, am now and then an Arbitrator, and 
License Ale-houses, and make people bury in 
Flannel, to encourage the Woollen Manufac-305 
ture; which never a Justice of Peace in England 
does but I. 

Wood. Look you, what would you have ? 

Clodp. Besides, I am drunk once a week at 
my Lord Lieutenants; and at my own house310 
spend not scurvy French kick-shaws, but much 
Ale and Beef, and Mutton, the Manufactures 
of the Country. 

Bev. The Manufactures of the Country, 
that’s well. 31s 

Rains. Ay, and, I warrant, by the vertue 
of that, can bring as many wide mouth’d 
Rogues to Ball and holloa for a Knight of the 
shire, as any man. 

396. pilling. D, peeling. 313- Country. D, Country! 

318. Ball. Qq, D, baul. 


22 


(Epsom Wells 


[Act I 


320 Clodp. Ay gods-ooks can I. 

Rains. That men should be such infinite 
Coxcombs to live scurvily to get reputation 
among thick-scull’d Peasants, and be at as a 
great a distance with men of wit and sense, as 
325 if they were another sort of Animals. 

Bev. ’Tis fit such fools should govern and 
do the drudgery of the world, while reasonable 
men enjoy it. 

Clodp. Mr. Woodly , Tie go now and wait 
330 upon your Cousin Lucia , and if I can get her 
to marry me, and fill up my pack of dogs, my 
two great works are over in this world. God- 
by, gentlemen. Ud’s-bud, I had forgot, I 
have the rarest stand of Ale to drink out in the 
335 afternoon, with three or four honest Country 
fellows; you shall be very welcom to it Ifack; 
and wee’l dust it away. 

Bev. We thank you, Sir. 

Clodp. I am now in haste to read a Gazette, 
340 this is the day, I am impatient till I see it — 
Oh, I love Gazetes extreamly, and they are the 
only things I can endure that come from 
London. They are such prety penn’d things, 
and I do so love to hear of Wisnowisky , Potosky , 

33 2 . 333 - God-by. Q3, God-b’-w’-y’. Q4, Good-by. D,Godb’ w* e\ 

336. Ifack. D, i’fack. 339. a Gazette. D, the Gazette. 


Scene I] 


(Epsom Melis 


23 


General Wrangle , and Count Tot , and all those 34s 
brave fellows — Gad save ye. [Ex. 

[Six Women cross the Stage in great haste. 

Rains. Look how the women begin to trip 
it from the Wells; I see some of ’em well 
dress’d in Masques; oh that admirable inven¬ 
tion of Vizor-masques for us poor Lovers; 350 
Vizors are so provocative, the Devil take me, 

I cannot forbear ’em. 

Bev. Thou art such a Termagant fellow, 
thou art as eager at a woman in a Vizard- 

[Exit Rains. 

masque, as thou would’st be if she show’d all. 355 
Faith, I’le not be behind hand with ye — 

[Enter Mrs. Woodly, and pulls Bevil by the 
sleeve .] How now, what, am I boarded first ? 

Oh Mrs. Woodly is it you ? 

Mrs. Wood. I dare not stay a minute, read 360 
that note, adieu. 

Bev. Short and sweet, let me see — 

[Ex. Mrs. Woodly. 

Reads.] My Husband staid up late , and was 
very drunk last night , and I have had a 
happy quarrel with him this morning , that 3 65 
has driven him from home y where I shall have 

349. masques. Qz, masks [et a/.]. 

358. How . . .first? [omitted in D.] 


24 


(Epsom Mills 


[Act I 


the happiness not to see him till night , so 
that I safely may enjoy your sweet society 
most part of this day. 

370 Yours Woodly. 

Well, the sin's so sweet, and the temptation 
so strong; I have no power to resist it. 

[Ex. Bevil. 

Enter Carolina, and Lucia, and Footman. 

Caro. Let the Coach walk up the Hill, we'll 
follow it. 

375 Foot. It shall, Madam. [Ex. Footman. 

Caro. But as I was saying, Lucia , here's 
very scurvy company. 

Luc. We have no body near us here, but 
some impertinent ill-bred City-wives, where 
380 they have more trading with the youth of the 
Suburbs, than their Husbands with their Cus¬ 
tomers within the walls. 

Caro. Sometimes we have their tame Hus¬ 
bands, who gallop hither upon their Tits, to 
38s see their faithful Wives play a game at Nine¬ 
pins, and be drunk with stum'd wine; and 
strait are gone to their several and respective 
couzening vocations. Therefore, prithee, let's 


370. Yours Woodly. D, Yours, Woodly. 
388. couzening. Qj, D, cozening. 


Scene I] <& p&Qm OTelltf 25 

go to Tunbridge; for London is so empty, ’tis a 
very Wilderness this vacation. 390 

Luc. No faith, Carolina , I have a project 
in my head shall stay me here a little longer, 
and thee to — 

Caro. What, you hanker after an acquaint¬ 
ance with Rains and Bevil? thou art a mad 39s 
wench, but they are so very wild. 

Luc. An they be naturally wilder than I, 
or you either, for all your simpering, Fll be 
condemned to Fools and ill company for ever. 

Caro. Do not wish that dreadful curse; we 400 
are already so much pester’d with gay Fools, 
that have no more sense than our Shock-dogs, 
that I long for an acquaintance with witty 
men as well as thou dost. But how can we 
bring it about without scandal ? 405 

Luc. Let this brain of mine alone for that. 

I blush for my Sex, to see the Ladies of London 
(as if they had forsworn common sense) make 
insipid young Fools their greatest Favourites. 

Caro. ’Tis a shame that a company of410 
young wall-fac’d fellows, that have no sense 
beyond Perruques and Pantaloons, should be 
the only men with the Ladies; whilst the 


390. vacation, [from E : orig. Vocation.] 
411. wall-fac'i. Q.i, Q4, D, well-faced. 


26 Cpflfom Wells? iacti 

acquaintance of witty men is thought scanda¬ 
ls lous. 

Luc. For my part, I am resolv’d to redeem 
the honour of our Sex, and love Wit, and never 
think a Fool a fine Gentleman. 

Enter Cuff and Kick. 

What Ruffins are these that come to interrupt 
420 us in our great design ? 

Kick. Ah, Ladies, have we catch’d ye 
i’faith ; you shall go along with us. 

Caro. What pitiful fellows are these ? 

Cuff. Pitiful fellows, Gad, have a care what 
425 you say, we do not use to put up such words, 
either from man or woman. 

Luc. What would you do, you dowty 
Hectors ? 

Kick. Hectors ? upon my honour, if we can 
430 find them out, we’ll beat your Gallants for this. 
Caro. If I had a Gallant that kept a Foot¬ 
man, that would not beat either of ye, I’de 
disown the Master for the cowardise of the 
man. 

435 Cuff. ’Sdeath, I could find in my heart to 
draw upon her. 

419. Ruffins. D, Ruffians. 

421, 422. ye i’faith; Q2, Q4, D, ye? i’faith. 

427. dowty. D, doughty. 433. cowardise. D, Cowardice. 


Scene I] 


Write 


27 


Kick. Would you had two of the bravest 
fellows in Christendom to defend ye, you shou’d 
see how wee’d swinge ’em. 

Luc. Avant, you Hectors, we are not fit 
for you. I am sure, neither of you yet were 
ever honoured with a favour from a Chamber¬ 
maid. 

Caro. Your acquaintance never rises higher 
than a Landress or an Hostess. 

Cuff. Be not perverse and foolish, we are 
persons of quality, and have money. Look ye, 
let this tempt you. 

Kick. Come ’faith, we’ll pay you well upon 
my honour. 

Caro. Upon my honour you shall be well 
paid with a couple of sufficient beatings, if you 
leave us not. 

Cuff. Hilts and blades, men of honour 
beaten, ye proud flirts ! 

Enter Rains and Bevil following some Women who run 
across the Stage. 

Luc. Gentlemen, ye look like men of qual¬ 
ity ; pray owne us to be of your acquaintance, 
and protect us from a couple of troublesom 
Ruffians. 


440 

445 

450 

455 


440. Avant, Qi, Advant, D, Avaunt. 


28 


C£p0om Mill* 


[Act I 


460 Rains. Owne thee ! that I will ’faith in any- 
ground in Christendom , and I hope thou wilt 
be of my acquaintance before we part. I 
embrace the adventure as greedily as a Knight 
errand could. 

465 Bev. to Caro. This is the Dame that I’ll 
defend. 

Rains. Gentlemen, have you any business 
with these Ladies ? 

Kick. Why, Sir, what if we have ? 

470 Cuff. May be we have not, Sir, may be we 
have. 

Bev. Nay, Gentlemen, no huffing, know 
your’e men and vanish. 

Rains. You may else, unawares, pull down 

47s a beating upon your own heads. 

Kick. Beating, Sir ? 

Cuff. We are Gentlemen of quality; never 
tell us of this, and that, i’gad — 

Rains. Do not provoke us, but be gone. 

480 Kick. Well, Sir, fare ye well; who cares ? 
I care no more for ’em. — 

Cuff. No, nor I neither. What a pox care 
I ? tell me — fare ye well. But who the Devil 
thought they wou’d have come hither ? 

464. errand. Q2, Q<, D, errant. 

473- your’e. Qq, D, you’re. 


Scene I] 


CEptfom Mell* 


29 


Kick. Pox on ’em for me. 48s 

Luc. softly. These are our Gallants : Gentle¬ 
men, let’s see how you will swinge ’em. 

Kick. ’Pshaw, prethee hold thy tongue, 
talk to me — fa, la, la. 

[Ex. Kick, and Cuff singing. 
Luc. This is lucky Carolina for our design. 490 
Gentlemen, you have oblig’d us extreamly. 

Rains. We are like Knights Errands, or 
Knights of the Bath , bound to relieve Ladies 
by our Order. 

Bev. But if we have oblig’d you, pray let us 49s 
see whom we have had the honour of obliging. 

Caro. Generous men should be content with 
the Action, without knowing whom they have 
oblig’d. But let it satisfie you, we are women 
of no small quality. 500 

Luc. This desire of knowing us, looks as if 
ye expected a reward; the seeing of our faces 
would be none; and upon my word, Gentle¬ 
men, we can go no farther if we would do that — 
Caro. Besides, you may think us handsom 505 
now, and if we shew our faces, we shall con¬ 
vince you to the contrary, and make you repent 
the obligation. 

488. prethee. D, pr’ythee [et a/.]. 

492. Errands, Q2. Qi, Errants. D, Errant. 


30 


(Epsom Wells 


[Act I 


Bev. I like thy shape and humour so well, 
510 that ’gad if thou’lt satisfie my curiosity, I’ll 
not repent, though you want that great orna¬ 
ment of a face, called a Nose. 

Rains. I am sure mine’s handsom; I have 
an instinct that never fails me. 

515 Luc. Your infallable instinct has guess’d 
wrong now. 

Bev. Come, Ladies, ’faith off with these 
Clouds and shine upon us. 

Rains. We can never leave you till we see 
520 your faces; and if ye don’t shew ’em us, we 
shall think you desire to keep us with ye. 

Luc. Nay, rather than have that scandal 
upon us, we’ll shew ’em. 

Caro. With all my heart, but upon these 
525 terms; you shall promise, upon your honour, 
not to dog us, or inquire further after us at 
this time. 

Luc. You hear the conditions. 

Bev. The conditions are very hard — but 
5301 promise — 

Rains. Come, Ladies, I find you are hand¬ 
som, and think your selves so; or you would 
not be afraid of our dogging you, when we have 
seen you. 


515. infallable. Qq, D, infallible. 


Scene i] (Epsom Mrtls 31 

Luc. No seeing our faces but upon these 535 
terms. 

Rains. You are cruel Tigers — but since 
there’s no remedy, I promise — 

Luc. Look you, Sir, do you like it now ? 

Caro. You’l believe us another time. 540 

Bev. By Heaven a Divine Creature! 

Rains. Beyond all comparison ! where have 
I liv’d ? 

Bev. ’Gad, mine has kill’d me. Since they 
were so much too hard for us at Blunts, we were 54s 
fools to go to sharps with them. 

Rains. I will never believe a Ladies word of 
her self again. 

Luc. Come, you flatter now. 

Rains. To shew that I don’t, I cannot help 550 
making my honour yield to my love; and 
must beg the favour of you to know who you 
are; and that I may wait on you home. 

Bev. And, Madam, had I sworn by your 
self, I must have been perjur’d, the temptation 555 
is so powerful. 

Caro. Have you seen so much Love and 
Honour upon the Stage, and are so little Judges 
of it here ? 

Luc. In short, if you are men of Honour, 560 

547. Ladies. D., Lady’s. 


CEptfom WitUti 


[Act I 


32 


you’ll keep your words; for we will never 
release you of ’em. 

Bev. Shall we have hopes of seeing you 
hereafter ? 

565 Caro. As you behave your selves now. 

Rains. Give me hopes of once more seeing 
you — and I’le trust you, and let you carry 
my heart away with you. 

Luc. You shall hear further from us, and 
570 suddenly. 

Rains. Upon your Honour ? 

Luc. Upon my Honour. 

Caro. And mine. 

Bev. Farewel then, but let me tell you, ’tis 
575 very cruel. 

Caro. Why did’st leave ’em so soon, I 
could have stayed longer with all my heart. 

Luc. ’Tis enough at first — and let me 
alone hereafter. [Ex. Luc. and Caro. 

580 Rains. This was a lucky Adventure, and so 
much the more lucky, that I lighted upon the 
Lady I love best, though they are both beautiful. 

Bev. And I am even with you in that too. 

Enter Woodly. 

Here’s Woodly ; the Intrigue is not ripe for his 
585 knowledge yet; where have you been, Franck ? 

585. Franck. Q2, Q«, D, Frank [ct al.) 


Scene I] 


€p*o m Mril0 


33 


Wood. I have had two damn'd unlucky 
Adventures. The first Vizor Masque I pur¬ 
su'd after, I had followed her a Furlong, and 
importun'd her to show her Face; when I 
thought I had got a Prize beyond my hopes, 590 
prov'd an old Lady of three-score, with a 
wrinkl’d pimpl'd Face, but one Eye, and no 
Teeth; but which was ten times a worse dis¬ 
appointment, the next that I follow'd prov'd 
to be my own Wife. 595 

Rains. This was for your good, Franck; 
Heaven designs to keep you vertuous. 

Wood. But I like not vertue that springs 
from necessity. Mine is so Noble, I'd have 
it try'd often. 600 

Rains. Well, Gentlemen, where shall we 
waste the latter part of the day ? for I must 
spend this former part on't with a convenient 
sort of Utensil, call'd a Citizens Wife. 

Wood. I must divert that design, and carry 60s 
you to my Cousin whom you never saw, the 
prettiest Girl in Christendom, she has seen 
you, and likes you extremely. 

Rains. Prethee, Woodly y what should I do 
with her ? I love thee and thy Family too well 610 


587, 588. pursu'd after, I. D, pursu’d, after I. 
605. Mat design. D, this design, 


34 


Cpsom Wells 


[Act I 


to lye with her, and my self too well to marry 
her; and I think a man has no excuse for him¬ 
self that visits a Woman without design of 
lying with her one way or other. 

615 Wood. Why, Jack , eight thousand pound 
and a handsom Wench of seventeen were no 
ill bargain. 

Rains. But here’s eight thousand pound, 
there’s liberty, Franck. Would you be con- 
620 tent to lye in Ludgate all your life time for 
eight thousand pound ? 

Wood. No, certainly. 

Rains. Marriage is the worst of Prisons. 

Bev. But by your leave, Rains , though 
625 Marriage be a Prison, yet you may make the 
Rules as large as those of the Kings Bench, 
that extend to the East-Indies. 

Rains. O hang it. No more of that Eccle¬ 
siastical Mouse-Trap. 

630 Wood. Prethee, speak more reverently of 
the happiest condition of life. 

Rains. A married man is not to be believ’d. 
You are like the Fox in the Fable that had lost 
his Tail, and would have perswaded all others 
635 to lose theirs; you are one of the Parsons 
Decoy-Ducks, to wheadle poor innocent Fowls 
into the Net. 


Scene I] 


<fl;psom 


35 


Wood. Why should’st thou think so ill of 
my Wife, to think I am not in earnest ? 

Rains. No application, Franck , I think thy 640 
Wife as good a Woman as a Wife can be. 

Wood. She loves me extremely, is tolerable 
handsom, and I am sure vertuous. 

Rains. That thou know’st, Ned Bevil. 

[Aside. 

Wood. ’Tis true, she values her self a little 64s 
too much upon her Vertue, which makes her 
sometimes a little troublesom and impertinent. 

Rains. I never knew a Woman that pre¬ 
tended over much to Vertue, that either had it, 
or was not troublesom and impertinent. 650 

Enter Bisket. 

Rains. Mr. Bisket , good morrow to you. 

Bisk. Your humble Servant, Sir. 

Bev. This is Rains his most obsequious 
humble Cuckold; his Wife is a pretty im¬ 
pertinent Strumpet, and scorns to have any 65s 
other Pimp but her own Husband, who all the 
while thinks her the innocentest Creature. 

Wood. A glorious Punk! but what a de¬ 
spicable thing a Cuckold is; they look as if 
they had the mark of Cain upon ’em. 1 660 
would not be a Cuckold for the World. 


[Act I 


36 (fcjjtfom ©HJelte 

Bev. How blind a thing a Husband is! 

[Aside. 

Bisk. Now as I am an honest man, and 
would I might ne’re stir, if I have not had such 
665 a life about you with my pretty Mollie , I would 
not have her so angry again for fifty pound, 
Cod-sniggs. 

Rains. About me, what’s the matter, 
man ? 

670 Bisk. Why, I promis’d to bring you to her 
last night, and got a little tipsy’d, as they say, 
and forgot it. She says you play the best at 
Cribach of any body, and she loves gaming 
mightily, and is as true a Gamester, though I 
67s say it. 

Rains. I know it, man. 

Bisk. Besides, she would fain learn that new 
Song of you; she says ’tis a rare one. 

SINGS 

Thou shalt have any things thou shall have me , 
680 And I have one thing that will please thee. 

’Tis such a pretty little innocent Rogue, and 
has such odd Fancies with her, ha, ha, ha — 

Wood. Lord, what a strange Creature a 
Cuckold is! [Aside. 


Scene I] 




37 


Bisk. But I swear all that I could do to 68s 
her could not please her this morning. Ifack- 
ings no body can satisfie her but you; there¬ 
fore as you tender the quiet and welfare of a 
poor humble Husband, come and play at Cri- 
bach with her to day; for she loves Cribach 690 
most intemperately. I do wonder that a 
Woman should love Gaming so. 

Rains. Faith, I am half ingag’d. 

Bisk. For Heavens sake, as you love me 
do not deny me, I shall have no quiet with her 5695 
besides, some Cheapside Neighbours of mine 
are to have a Game at Bowls, and a merry 
meeting this Afternoon, and she wishes the 
Waters may ne’re go through her, if she’ll 
give me leave to go to ’em, unless I bring you 700 
to her to keep her Company, and sing and play 
at Cards with her, therefore dear Mr. Rains. 

Wood. This is beyond all Example. 

Rains. Well, there is not in Nature so tame 
and inoffensive a Beast as a London Cuckold, 705 
He say that for him. [Aside. 

Wood. Prethee, Jack , do not refuse to go 
to my Cousin for a little Strumpet. 

Rains. I cannot be so inhumane to refuse a 


686, 687. Ifackings. D, I’fackings. 
702. her, therefore. D, her: therefore. 


38 


(Epsom Wells 


[Act I 


710 Husband that invites me to his own Wife, 
Allons, Mr. Bisket. 

Bisk. Come, good Sir, I thank you for this 
favour a thousand times; my Wife will be in a 
very good humour to day, Sir. 

7*5 Rains. Go before, Tie follow you, and carry 
her this Kiss from me. 

Bisk. I thank you, Sir, Tie carry it her, 
poor Rogue, she’ll be overjoy’d ; but pray don’t 
stay long. [Exit Bisket. 

Enter a Boy with a Letter. 

720 Boy. Are Mr. Rains and Mr. Bevil here ? 

Bev. Yes, we two are they. 

Boy. Here’s a Letter for you. 

Wood. How now, Gentlemen, what an 
Assignation to both of you ! 

72s Rains. Upon my life, Ned , ’tis from the 
Ladies. 

Reads] You two have injur d a couple of 
Gentlemen that will expect you with your 
Swords in your hands at eleven in a Field 

730 on the North-side of the Church. If you 
fail , you shall not fail of being posted. 
’Till you meet us , you shall not know our 

710, 711. Wife, Allons. [from E, orig. Wife alone; uncorrected in Q3.] 

723. Gentlemen, what an. D, Gentlemen? What! an. 

731. of being. D, to be. 


Scene I] CpgfOUl 3 MM 10 39 

names , but know that we are worth the 
meeting , &c. 

Bev. This is a business of another nature, 73s 
Rains. 

Rains. We must to Tilts and Turnaments, 
Ned , sure they are the Bullies we saw just now. 

Bev. From whom did you bring this, Boy ? 

Boy. From a couple of Gentlemen in Buff 740 
Belts, Red Coats, and Shammey Breeches. 

Rains. ’Tis from them; sure they’l not 
fight. 

Bev. But we must try whether they will 
or no : tell ’em we’ll not fail. 74s 

Boy. I shall, Sir. [Exit Boy. 

Rains. I have a business of another nature 
to dispatch, Ned; I’ll meet you before eleven 
at your lodging. 

Bev. I have just such another business too; 750 
but I’ll not fail to meet you — But how can 
you relish Mrs. Bisket after the Lady you saw 
this morning ? 

Rains. I am not sure of her I saw this 
morning; besides, if I were, is it reasonable 755 
that a man who has a good stomack should 
refuse Mutton to day, because he expects 


748. meet you [you from E; omitted. Qq, D]. 


4° 


Cptfom OTelltf 


[Act II 


Quails to morrow ? but how can you in con¬ 
science think of Concupiscence, when for ought 
760 you know, we may venture our lives within 
two hours ? 

Bev. Since, for ought I know, my life may 
be in danger, Pll make use on’t while it is not. 

Rains. Adieu, Woodly , let’s meet on the 
765 Bowling-green in the afternoon. [Ex. Rains. 

Wood. You are happy men, Gentlemen, but 
I am going to visit one that I love more than 
my eyes, and would give both of them to 
enjoy. 

770 Bev. Aside. That’s not his own Wife; I 
shall be safe enough there. I have an engage¬ 
ment too, and must leave you. 

Wood. Adieu, we’ll meet about five. 

Bev. Agreed ; — [Ex. Bevil. 

775 Wood. Now for my dear Carolina. — 

Thus all the world hy several ways does move , 

But all the Mighty business ends in love. [Exit. 

ACT II. SCENE I. 

Enter Clodpate, Lucia, and Carolina. 

Luc. Prethee stay with me, that I may be no 
longer pester’d with this Country Coxcomb. 

764. Adieu, Woodly . [omitted in D], 


Scene i] (Bptfom Well* 41 

Caro. Would’st thou have me so barbarous 
to interrupt Lovers ? 

Luc. He a Lover! yes, of a clear Title in 5 
his next Purchase, his Dapple Mare, a dear 
year of Corn, or so. 

Caro. Come, he has as violent a substantial 
country passion for you, as one would wish; 
and I will leave you to him. 10 

Luc. You mischievous creature, Fll be 
reveng’d on you. [Exit Carolina. 

Clodp. If my propositions be not reasonable, 
I’ll ne’r pretend to serve my Country more. 

Luc. A prety Country to be serv’d by such 15 
fellows. [Aside. 

Clodp. In that noble Brick-house, moted 
round with Turrets and fine things, that I now 
spoke of, in the best hunting Country in 
Europe , with a thousand pounds a year will 1 20 
joynture you. 

Luc. ’Tis not profit, but honour I respect; 
and I have vow’d never to Marry one that 
cannot make me a Lady, and you are no 
Knight. 2 S 

Clodp. A Knight, no I thank you; why, I 
have known a Fishmonger Knighted : Knight¬ 
hood’s a prety bawble for a fellow to play with, 

26. Knight, no. D, Knight! no, 


42 




[Act II 


that is no Gentleman. But what needs he that 
30 is a Gentleman desire to be more ? 

Luc. But, methinks, the name of Clodpate 
does not sound well without a title. 

Clodp. I thank you heartily; my name is 
now Hugh Clodpate; and I should give two or 
35 three hundred pounds to add three letters to 
it, Sir Hugh Clodpate: no, no, I can’t make so 
much on’t again. 

Luc. Oh, a Knight is such a thing! 

Clodp. Such a thing ! has he more hands or 
40 legs, or more brains than another man ? 

Luc. But if I could be content without 
being a Lady, I have vow’d to spend all my life 
in London. 

Clodp. Pox on her; live in London did she 
45 say ? * [Aside. 

Death, have you vow’d to live in London say 
you ? 

Luc. Yes, is that so wonderful ? why people 
do really live no where else; they breath, and 
50 move, and have a kind of insipid dull being: 
but there is no life but in London. 

Clodp. London! that sink of sin. 

Luc. I believe there is no Village but sins 
as much in porportion to the bigness; only 

46. Death, D, Death! 


Scene I] 


Cpsom OTelte 


43 


your Country sins are something the more 55 
block-headed sins. 

Clodp. Madam, give me leave to ask you 
one question. 

Luc. You may. 

Clodp. Do you resolve to live honest ? 60 

Luc. ’Tis a familiar question; you had 
need to ask my leave first. 

Clodp. Why ? you may as reasonably expect 
to preserve your health in a Pest-house, as 
your Chastity in that damn’d lascivious Town. 65 

Luc. You are rude, Sir. 

Clodp. Come, Madam, plain dealing is a 
jewel. But can you prefer an idle scandalous 
London- life, before a prety innocent huswifely- 
life in the Country to look to your Family, and 70 
visit your Neighbours ? 

Luc. To see my Ducks and Geese fed, and 
cram my own Chickens. 

Clodp. Ay. 

Luc. To have my Closet stink like a Pothe-75 
caries shop with Drugs and Medicines, to 
administer to my sick Neighbours; and spoil 
the next Quacks practice with the receipt book 
that belongs to the family. 

73. Chickens. D, Chickens? 

75, 76. a Polhecaries. Q3, a Pothecary’s. D, an Apothecary’s. 


44 


€p$om Meite 


[Act II 


'80 Clodp. Very well. 

Luc. And then to have one approv’d 
Green-salve, and dress sore legs with it; and 
all this to deserve the name of as good a neigh¬ 
bourly body as ever came into Sussex. 

8s Clodp. Very good. 

Luc. Never to hear a Fiddle, but such as 
sounds worse than the Tongs and Key, or a 
Gridiron; never to read better Poetry, than 
John Hopkins , or Robert Wisdoms vile Metre; 
90 nor hear better singing than a company of 
Peasants praising God with doleful untunable 
hoarce voices, that are only fit to be heard 
under the Gallows. 

Clodp. However you make bold with the 
95 Country, be not prophane. Is not this better 
than any thing in that stinking Town ? 

Luc. Stinking Town! I had rather be 
Countess of Puddledock , than Queen of Sussex. 

Clodp. Oh foh — but ah, the excellent fresh 
100 air upon the Downs. 

Luc. So there’s fresh air in a Wilderness, if 
one could be content with Bears and Wolves 
for her companions. But, Sir, in short, I am 
resolv’d to live at London , and at, or very near 
105 the Court too. 


92, hoarce. Qq, D, hoarse. 


Scene I] 


Cpsiom Meite 


45 


Clodp. ’Sdeath ! the Court ? I shall not only 
be Cuckolded, but lose all my true Country 
interest; Madam, I beg your pardon, I shall 
take my leave; I am not cut out for a Londoner , 
or a Courtier; fare you well, good Madam, no 
though I like your person prety well, I like not 
your conditions; Pd not Marry a London 
Cherubin. 

Luc . Farewel, Sir, but Pie not be wholly 
ungrateful for the address you have honoured 115 
me with : know then my friend Carolina is the 
most averse to London , and the most infatuated 
with the love of the Country. 

Clodp. Ud’s bud, infatuated ; pray change 
that word if you please. 120 

Luc. You know my meaning by it; she 
and I are parting, because she will not with 
patience hear of returning to London; she calls 
it nothing but vain, obscene, wicked, filthy, 
Popish place. I2 S 

Clodp. Ha! how’s this ? I did not think 
she had so much sense. [Aside. 

Luc. She often says she had rather marry 
a Country Justice of five hundred pounds a 


107. all [omitted in D]. 

117. the most infatuated [the inserted from E; omitted Qi]. 
119. Ud’s bud, infatuated; D, Ud’s bud! infatuated! 


4 6 


€p&otn 


[Act II 


i 3 o year, than a man of five thousand pounds a 
year in London. Nay, than a Duke at Court. 

Clodp. Aside. She’s an ingenuous woman 
Guds-sooks; I had rather marry her naked, 
than you with all your portion, Madam. 

[To her. 

13s But a Pox on’t, I had damn’d ill luck to make 
my application to you first, as the Devil would 
have it. 

Luc. This is a very Country Courtier — 
Here she comes, let’s withdraw; I will tell you 

140 more, and we’ll consult about this business. 

Clod. Your servant, Madam. 

[Exeunt Clodpate, Lucia. 

Enter Carolina and Woodly. 

Wood. How can you mistrust a man in so 
credible a thing ? 

Caro. As what ? 

145 Wood. As that he should love the pretiest, 
sweetest, dearest creature he ever saw — 

Caro. So far from that, I believe, he will 
love all the pretyest, sweetest, dearest Crea¬ 
tures, as he calls ’em, that he ever shall see: 

150 but you have paid that tribute already to ver- 
tuous Madam Woodly , and are Marry’d. 

132. ingenuous. Q3, Q4, D, ingenious. 

145. should [from E; orig. would]. 


Scene I] 


dEpsom Well# 


47 


Wood. I am so, and there’s the less danger 
in my love; I should else be tempting you to 
accept me for better for worse till death us 
depart, &c. Now, Madam, take my heart 155 
upon its good behaviour, as much as you have 
use on, and the rest again, and no hurt done. 

Caro. Where there are so many free, why 
should I venture upon a heart with so manifest 
a flaw in the title as a Marry’d mans. 160 

Wood. Faith, there are none without their 
incumbrances; your fashionable Spark has his 
Miss in the Play-house; your Ladies eldest 
Son his Mothers Chamber-maid ; The Country 
Gentleman his Tennants Daughter; A handsom 16s 
young fellow that is to make his fortune, some 
elderly Sinner, that keeps him fine, so that 
Marriage is the least engagement of all; for 
that only points out where a man cannot love. 

Caro. Since Marriage obliges men so little, 170 
and women so much; I wonder we endure the 
cheat on’t. 

Wood. Y’are in the right, ’tis worse than 
cross I win, pile you lose: but there are some 
left that can love upon the square. *75 

154, 155. for better . . . depart. D, in italics. 

163. Ladies. Q3, D, Lady’s. 

165. Tennants. Q3, D, Tenant’s. 

173. Y'arc. D, You’re [et al.\, 174. cross . . . lose. D, in italics. 


4 8 


<&p*om Melte 


[Act II 


Caro. A woman may be undone upon the 
square, as well as a gamester, if she ventures too 
much. 

Wood. Never so long as you play for noth- 
i8oing but what you have about you; and, upon 
my honour, I would engage you no deeper at 
this time; ’tis tick and after-reckonings that 
ruine Lovers, as well as Gamesters; and, gad, 
if you mistrust me, I am ready to make stakes; 
18s and because y’are a young beginner, I’le play 
three to one. 

Caro. Not so fast, good Sir, you’l make me 
quit the few good thoughts I had of you, if 
you persist. 

190 Wood. Persist in loving you I must till 
death; but the method and ceremonies I leave 
to you to prescribe. I guess’d you would not 
care for a whining Lover. 

Caro. Nor do I care for one in your ex- 
x 95 treamity the other way. 

Wood. Take your choice; I can make love 
from the stiff formal way of the year 42. to the 
gay brisk way of this present day and hour. 

Caro. Since I suppose it is for diversion, 
200 pray let me see how that is. 

Wood. Look you thus 

[Sings, dances and combs his Peruque. 


Scene I] 


(Bpfifom Weil* 


49 


Caro. Is this it ? why, you don’t mind 
me ? 

Wood. I mind my self though, and am to 
make you fall in love with me after a careless 205 
way by the by. 

Caro. When do you begin ? 

Wood. Begin, why ? I am at it all this while. 

[Sfwgj and Dances again. 
Now have at you, these Breasts are not hard 
to speak on; no, nor this Neck white; nor those 210 
Eyes black. Lord, how you look to day! 
that ever a man should love such a Creature; 
what will you give me for a piece when y’are 
mother of the maids ? 

Caro. Must I answer you like a Lady of the 215 
times too ? 

Wood. Ay, by all means, Madam. 

Caro. This, Mr. Woodly , is the strangest 
man, he wou’d make one dye to hear him, I 
vow, ha, ha, ha. 220 

Wood. Lord, what a set of teeth you shew 
when you laugh ! if they were mine, I’d pull 
’em out; sure your breath can’t be sweet, let 
me see. [ Offers to kiss her. 


202. mind me? Qi, D, mind me. 

304. and am to [am to inserted from E; omitted Q*]. 
208. Begin, why? Qs, D. Begin? Why, 


[Act II 


50 Cpsfom OTelte 

225 Caro. Well, I vow your a pleasant man, but 
you go too fast. 

Wood. For your Lover of the last Age I 
grant you ; but the World is well mended since, 
fair Ladies and fortified Towns yield upon 
230 easier terms now a-days. 

[Offers to kiss her agen. 
Now I see you dare not stand the tryal, ’tis 
e’en so; Lie be hang’d if you han’t crooked 
Legs too. 

[Offers to lift up her Coats. 

Caro. I had rather you should think so than 
235take the pains to satisfie you; but I vow 
you’d make one burst, you have such a way 
with you, ha, ha, ha. 

Wood. I hate to live in doubt, you have a 
pretty Face; but an ill Breath, and crooked 
240 Legs, Gad, are insufferable. 

Caro. Is this your new way ? I have 
enough on’t, no more drinking my health in a 
Beer-glass, and quarrelling with the man that 
can’t pledge. Scribling your passion in Glass- 


225. your. Q2, Qi, you’r. Q3, D, you’re. 

234. should. Q4, D, would. 

238, 239. doubt, . . . Face; but. Q3, D, doubt; . . . Face, but. 
242. no more drinking. Q3, no more; drinking. D, no more. 
Drinking. 

244. pledge. D, pledge you; 


Scene I] 


Cpsorn Witlti 


5i 


windows, and wearing my Colours continu- 245 
ally, I can better endure; but now I talk of 
scribling, divert me a little better, and give me 
the Song you promis’d me. 

Wood. I have taught it your Woman, who 
I conceive has something a better voice than 1, 250 
she’s here too. 

Caro. Sing that Song Mr. Woodly taught 
you. 

She Sings. 

Hozv pleasant is mutual Love that is true, 

Then Phillis let us our affections unite; 255 

For the more you love me, the more I love you, 

The more we contribute to each others delight: 

For they that enjoy without loving first, 

Still eat without stomach, and drink without thirst. 

Such is the poor Fool who loves upon duty, 260 

Because a Canonical Coxcomb has made him, 

And ne’re tastes the sweets of love and of beauty, 
But drudges because a dull Priest has betray d 
him ; 

But who in enjoyment from love take their 265 
measure, 

Are rap't with delight, and still ravish’t with 
pleasure. 


254. true, Q4, D, true? [for true!] 


5^ 


€p$oxn OTells 


[Act II 


Each night he’s a Bridegroom , and she is a Bride. 
270 When their minds and their bodies shall both so 
agree; 

That neither shall pleasure from the other divide , 
But both at one instant shall satisfy’d be; 

Let Fools for convenience be drawn to their love , 
27s But this [ir] the way real pleasure to prove. 

Enter Clodpate and Lucia. 

Luc. So, you are pleasant here, Mr. Clod¬ 
pate , how do you like this Song ? ’tis a London 
Song. 

Clodp. Ay, Pox on’t, I hate it for it; when 
280 1 had the misfortune to know that damn’d 
Town first, they had better Songs by half; 
they put no wit in their Songs now ad ays. 

Caro. Pray do us the favour to Sing one of 
those you speak of. 

285 Clodp. Faith, Madam, I have but an ordi¬ 
nary voice, but I cannot disobey you. 

[Sings ridicuously this old Song. 

Lay by your pleading , 

Law lies a bleeding , &c. 

273. both at one instant [from E: orig. that at one instance]. 

274. convenience. Q«, D, conveniency. 

275. [is] accidentally omitted Qi. 

279. hate it for it. D, hate it for that; 


Scene I] 


(Epsom OTells 


53 


Wood. What an incomprehensible block¬ 
head is this. 290 

Clodp. This pleases us in the Country; I 
know you like it ne’re the worse, Madam. 

Caro. Nor much the better. 

Clodp. Come, Madam, I am sure you love 
a Country life, and hate that vile Town of 295 
London; and I honour you for’t. 

Caro. I hate London! 

Clodp. I knew you would dissemble it, but 
I know your heart; , tis true, indeed, ’tis a 
vain obscene wicked filthy popish place. 300 

Caro. What means the Worshipful Fop ? 

Clodp. And a Virtuous Lady had better 
Marry a Country Justice of five hundred pounds 
a year, than one in London of five thousand 
pounds; nay, than a Duke at Court — ’tis 305 
granted Madam, tis granted. 

Caro. It may be granted by you, but not 
by me. 

Clodp. There are some such fools to refuse 
good offers; but there are others have more 310 
wit, Heaven be prais’d. 

Caro. Sure you have been at cross purposes 
of late, Mr. Clodpate. 

Clodp. No, Madam, but I know you hate 
Sodom yonder; foh—methinks I smell it 315 


54 


(Epsom OTrllsi 


[Act II 


hither; let me tell you in private; I would 
not marry Mrs. Lucia if she had fifty thousand 
pounds; Ud’s bud, marry one that would live 
at London , nay at Court; No, I had rather go to 
320 Sea in a Fire-ship ; but I’le shew you the finest 
seat in Sussex which you shall call your own. 

Caro. What do you mean by this ? 

Clodp. All this I know very well, and 
though by the Sot her Uncle I was misguided 
325 to Mrs. Lucia , ’tis to you, Madam, my affec¬ 
tion first inclin’d. 

Caro. Ah mischief, have you contriv’d 
this ? you thought to punish me much, but I 
had rather have such a fellow to Fool with, 
330 than a lap Dog, or a Squirrel; abusing of a 
Fool is almost as pleasant as conversing with 
a witty Man. 

Luc. ’Tis true, now I consider it, and he 
that’s laugh’d at is oft times as good Company 
335 as he that laughs, nay some have rais’d their 
fortunes by it; but you forget our appoint¬ 
ment ; pray let’s go. 

Caro. Ay, prithee. My dear, Gentlemen 
we must leave you ; your servant. 

338. prithee. My dear. Gentlemen . . . Q2, Qi, prithee, my dear. 
Gentlemen, Qa, prithee My dear, Gentlemen, D, pr’ythee, my Dear. 
Gentlemen, 


Scene I] 


(£p$om Well* 


55 


Wood. Will you not let me wait on you ? 340 

Caro. By no means, ’tis a private affair. 

Clodp. Shall not I wait on you ? 

Caro. I shall not refuse the favour another 
time, but now I must beg your pardon. 

Luc. Allons, let’s meet the Duellists, 1 345 
warrant you they are men of honour. 

Clodp. Come, I am going a setting, will 
you go ? [Ex. Luc. and Caro. 

Wood. No, I must go home. 

[Ex. Clodpate. 

Enter Fribble, and Dorothy his Wife. 

Fribb. Whither are you a going Mr. Woodly ? 350 
will you not go to the Bowling-Green to day ? 

Wood. Yes, perhaps in the Afternoon, — 
Adieu. [Ex. Woodly. 

Fribb. Why do you follow me with your 
Impertinence ? 355 

Doro. My dear honey, how have I offended 
thee ? did I not with my own hands put the[e] 
to Bed when thou wert fudled last night ? did 
I not set thy Bottle of small Beer by thy Bed¬ 
side ? did I not rise early and make thee a 360 
Caudel when thou wer’t puking, and gave thee 

357. the[e\. e accidentally omitted Qj. 

358. fudled. D. fuddled. 3 6i. Caudel. Qq, D, caudle. 


56 (Epsom ®UcllS [Act II 

Aqua Mirabilisy to fetch up the Water off thy 
Stomach ? 

Fribb. All this you did, and *twas your 
365 Duty, but you are strangely troublesom. 

Dor. Think not my love a trouble, Dear; 
I speak for thy good, prethee do not go abroad 
to day, thou’lt kill thy self with drinking, and 
thy Death will be sure to kill me. 

370 Fribb. You are impertinent, Fie go, let that 
suffice. 

Dor. You are shrewdly mistaken if you 
think I desire your Company. But I am sure 
this is the way to be rid on’t. [Aside. 

375 Frib. I am to meet Mr. Bisket , and some 
Cheapside Neighbours; be silent, my will is 
like the Laws of the Maids and Parsons. 

Dor. I cannot hide my love and fears from 
thee; prithee, dearest, kiss me. 

380 Frib. I say again, Peace; I shall be much 
offended. 

Dor. Thou art a naughty man, and al¬ 
ways abroad while I am languishing for thee; 
and I have thee but two days in a Week at 
38s Epsom. 

Frib. Know your Lord and Master, and be 
subject to my Government; I though but a 
Haberdasher will be as absolute a Monarch 


Scene I] 


€p$om OTell0 


57 


over you, as the great Turk over his Sultan 
Queen. 39 o 

Dor. Well, I can but submit and weep for 
thy absence. 

Frib. Can’t you keep Company with Mrs. 
Bisket ? 

Dor. What thou pleasest, my Dear. 395 

So you’l go and not hinder me from better 
Company. [Aside. 

Frib. Well, I have the most Virtuous, and 
best Govern’d Wife in all the Ward; but I 
must observe Discipline, and keep a strict 400 
hand over her. 

Dor. I am an unfortunate Woman not to 
have thy Company; so I am. 

Enter Mrs. Bisket. 

Mrs. Bisk. What, in tears Mrs. Fribble! 
this is that naughty man; out on thee, thou40s 
art a shame to all Husbands, thou woud’st be 
so insolent to command thy own Wife; wouldst 
thou use thy own flesh, thy own rib so, out 
upon thee. 

Frib. I am my own Master, and will be hers. 410 

Mrs. Bisk. Ah, thou art a good one i’faith; 

406, 407. thou woud’st . . . Wife; wouldst. [omitted Q4, D]- 

407, 408. wouldst thou, [from E; orig. dost thou). 


[Act II 


58 CBjp^om Well* 

and thou wer’t mine, I’d teach the[e] better 
manners. 

Frib. Dorothy , listen not to this lewd 
415 Woman, her Husband is a sneaking, sniveling 
Cuckold; if you should be like her, I would 
make you such a terrible Example! Mrs. 
Bisket , you are impertinent, were I your Hus¬ 
band, I would swinge you much. 

420 Mrs. Bisk. Swinge me, say you, I could 
tear thy Eyes out. Death, if you provoke me, 
I’le show you what the Courage of an inraged 
Woman can do. 

Doro. Nay, good Mrs. Bisket , Mr. Fribble 
42s is a good Man for all his passion. 

Mrs. Bisk. Swinge me — 

Frib. This Woman is as outragious as a 
Milch Bear that wants her Breakfast. Fare 
you well. [Ex. 

430 Mrs. Bisk. Come Neighbour, you are a 
shame to all Wives to be so tame and foolish; 
pluck up a Spirit, and order him as I do my 
Bisket. 

Dor. This is the only way to order a surly 
435 Husband. 

Mrs. Bisk. I am asham’d of you, you be¬ 
tray our cause; submit to a Husband; I’d 

412. the[e], e accidentally omitted Q t . 


Scene I] 


CDpsont Wells 


59 


fain see that Husband that Pd crouch to. 1 
say again pluck up a Spirit; I keep a strict 
hand of Discipline over mine. 

Enter Bisket. 

Here he comes, you shall see how I order him. 

Bisket. How now my pretty Dear, poor Duck. 

Mrs. Bisk. Duck, you Widgeon ; how came 
you and I so familiar ? observe me now. 

[Aside. 

Bisk. Well, Mrs. Fribble , ’tis such a pretty 
Rogue, and has such pleasant fancies with her, 
ha, ha, ha. I protest and vow I could kiss the 
very ground she goes on. If she would eat 
Gold, nay Pearls and Diamonds, she should 
have them, I vow and swear. 

Mrs. Bisk. You Beast, you had best be 
drunk agen, i’faith Pie order you, I’le keep 
you in better awe, you shall neither have 
Caudel nor Custard for’t this week. 

Bisk. Nay, good Dear, be not so cruel, I 
protest and vow I could not help it: my 
Neighbour Fribble is a very merry man, I could 
not forbear, we were at it, Tory Rory, and sung 
old Rose, the Song that you love so, Duck. 
Thou shalt have any thing , thou shalt have me, &c. 

454. Caudel. Q3, Q4, D, caudle. 


440 

445 

450 

455 

460 


6o 


(Dptfom Meite 


[Act II 


Mrs. Bisk. Ay, Mr. Fribble maintains his 
Wife like a Lady, and she has all things about 
her as well as any Woman in the Parish, he 
keeps her the prettiest pacing Nag with the 
465 finest Side-saddle of any Womans in the Ward, 
and lets her take her pleasure at Epsom two 
months together. 

Doro. Ay, that’s because the Air’s good to 
make one be with Child, and he longs mightily 
470 for a Child ; and truly. Neighbour, I use all the 
means I can, since he is so desirous of one. 

Bisk. All this thou shalt do, my Dear; He 
omit nothing that shall please thee. 

Mrs. Bisk. Yes, you Nicompoop, you are a 
475 pretty Fellow to please a Woman indeed. 

Bisk. But prethee, my Dear, let me go to 
the Bowling-green to my Neighbours: would 
I might ne’re stir, if I drink above a pint 
of Wine, or a quart of Mum for my share at 
480 most. 

Mrs. Bisk. You impertinent Puppy, I 
wonder you have the impudence to ask me such 
a question. [She gives him a slap on the face. 

Bisk. Mrs. Fribble , my pretty Mollie has 
48s some humours, but this is the worst you’ll see 
of her. 


484. Mollie. Q3, D, Molly. 


Scene I] 


CBpsorn Well* 


61 


Doro. How rarely she orders a Husband; 

I vow I think I must pluck up a spirit as she 
does, that’s the truth on’t. 

Mrs. Bisk. Where’s Mr. Rains , you Lol-490 
poop ? do you think you shall go, and he not 
here ? 

Bisk. O Duck, he’ll be here presently, and 
sent thee a kiss by me. 

Mrs. Bisk. Yes, I warrant he’d kiss such a 495 
Fellow as thee. 

Bisk. I vow he did ; prethee take it of me, 
my Dear. 

Mrs. Bisk. I’le swear he’s a fine person. 
Well, because it comes from him, I’le take it; 500 
he’s the compleatest man, and so courteous 
and well-behav’d. 

Bisk. Now thou’lt let me go. 

Mrs. Bisk. No, not till he comes. 

Bisk. Nay, good Dear. 505 

Mrs. Bisk. I tell you you shall not; get 
you in. 

Bisk. Pray, Duck, now. 

Doro. I never saw any thing so admirable 
as this Discipline of hers; I am resolved to510 
try my Fribble , that’s once. 

Bisk. Why, look here he is now already. 

512. look. D, look! 


62 


d£p$om OTtU* 


[Act II 


Enter Rains. 

Doro. Oh me ! is he acquainted with her ? 

[Aside. 

Mrs. Bisk. Does he know her ? [Aside. 
sis Bisk. Fie steal away and say nothing. 

[Ex. Bisket. 

Mrs. Bisk. Come, Mr. Rains , let’s in. 
Mrs. Fribble , your Servant. 

Doro. Madam, I’le wait on you in; Mr. 
Rains will not think my Company troublesom. 
520 Mrs. Bisk. Ah, shame on her. [Aside. 

We shall entertain you but ill. Mr. Rains is 
pleased to come and play at Cribach with me, 
and ’twill be no sport to look on. 

Doro. Fie make one at Gleek, that’s better 
525 than any two-handed Game. 

Mrs. Bisk. I do not think so, by your leave, 
Madam Fribble. —Oh Impertinence! 

Doro. Well then, I’le be content to be a 
looker on for once. — She would fain have him 
530 to her self, but I’le look to her for that. [Aside. 

[Ex. Rains, Dorothy, Mrs. Bisket. 

Enter Mrs. Woodly in a Dining-room. 

Mrs. Wood. Mr. Bevil stays mighty long, 
pray Heaven he be not diverted by some paltry 
Citizens Wife; here are such a Company of 


Scene I] 


<I];p$om Melte 


63 


them that lye upon the snap for young Gentle¬ 
men, as Rooks and Bullies do for their Hus- 535 
bands when they come to Town. 

Enter Bevil. 

Bev. Madam, your Servant. 

Mrs. Wood. O Mr. Bevil , are you come ? I 
vow I was afraid I had lost you. A Woman 
that’s apt to be jealous as I am should not 540 
make such a person the object of her affections. 

Bev. Words are the common payment of 
those that intend no other. There is no such 
sign of having been long fasting, as falling to 
with a good stomach. 545 

Mrs. Wood. I am so afraid you should be 
seduc’d by some of these naughty Women at 
Epsom. A shame take ’em, I hate a lewd 
Woman with my heart, I vow I do now. 

Bev. Madam, I have a very pressing affair sso 
that requires some speedy conference with you 
in your Bed-chamber. 

Mrs. Wood. No, Sir, no — I wonder you 
have the confidence to ask me, when you were 
so rude to me there last time. 555 

Bev. I do not know what she calls rude. I 

544. having been [from E; orig. being]. 


64 (Epsom Wells [Act II 

am sure I oblig’d her as often I could 
there. [Aside. 

Mrs. Wood. One can’t be private with you, 
560 but you are so uncivil presently. I can scarce 
forgive you; I wonder who learnt you such 
tricks for my part. 

Bev. If I were ne’re so backward, she’d 
soon instruct me. I am not so ill-bred, but I 
56s know what I owe to a Lady. Come, Dearest. 

Mrs. Wood. Do not ask me; I vow I won’t. 
You are the strangest man that I ever met 
with, you won’t let one alone; nay pish, fy, 
Mr. Bevil , arn’t you asham’d ? 

570 Bev. No more; nay, Dear, come in, come in. 

Mrs. Wood. Nay, pish, ha, ha, ha, ha. I 
vow you make me blush; get you gone, you 
naughty man you. 

Bev. You’ll make me outragious; I shall 
575 force you, have a care. 

Mrs. Wood. Well, I vow you are a parlous 
man. Will you promise me then to sit still 
when you are there, and not stir hand or foot ? 

Bev. Ay, Ay; come, come. 

580 Mrs. Wood. Nay, but will you swear? 

Bev. Yes, yes; come, allons, my Dearest; — 
she’ll soon dispense with that Oath. 

558. [Aside] only in D. 


Scene I] 


d£p$om Melte 


65 


[Mrs. Wood.] Well, I am so asham’d, I vow 
I would not go, but that you said you would 
force me, and swore too besides. 5 8 5 

[As they are going into the Bed-chamber, enter Peg. 

Peg. Madam, here’s my Master just coming 
in a doors. [Ex. Peg instantly. 

Mrs. Wood. Heaven ! what shall I do ? 

Bev. I told him I had private business, to 
get rid of him, and he’ll discover all. 590 

Mrs. Wood. Go into the Bed-chamber, lie 
lock it. 

Bev. But how will you get rid of him ? 

Mrs. Wood. Let me alone, this is an unlucky 
surprise ; in quickly. 595 

Bev. If I should be locked up so long till I 
fail Rains , and our fighting appointment, I shall 
get much honour, I take it. [Bev. goes in. 

Mrs. Wood. In, in. [Enter] Woodly. 

O you unworthy Fellow; have you the impu-600 
dence to appear before me after your beastly 
usage ? 

Wood. I thought your fit might have been 
off by this time. 

Mrs. Wood. No, it shall never be off, thou 6 5 
inhumane Beast; to sit up anights late, and 

583. [Mrs. Wood.] Speech wrongly assigned to Bevil, Qi. 

599. [Enter] from D; Qq [Exit], 


66 


<£p$om Mellsf 


[Act II 


come home drunk and wake me, and lye like a 
Statue by me all the rest of the night, flesh 
and blood can’t bear it; you make me cry my 
6 ioEyes out, to see that you’l kill your self by 
your villainous debauchery. 

Woodly while she scolds sings. Fa, la, la, 
la, fa. 

Mrs. Wood. Fa, la, la, la— Is that the 
615 notice you take of me ? If I were not the best 
Woman in the World, and did not love thee, 
thou base Fellow, ’twould not trouble me. 
Oh that I should be so unfortunate, so be¬ 
witch’d, to love such a Monster of a man ! 

620 Wood. Fa, la, la, la, Oh Impudence! 

Mrs. Wood. I wonder what I should see in 
thee to love thee so! Out on thee for a Villain. 
Oh that I could withdraw my affection from 
thee, thou Brute! but I can’t for my life, ’tis 
625 that makes me miserable, thou barbarous 
wicked Wretch. 

Wood. If to seek quiet abroad, when one 
can’t have it at home, be a sin, Heaven help 
the wicked, but pox on’t. 

630 Mrs. Wood. Ay, now you ban and curse, 
you Wretch ; this you get by keeping Company 
with Wits, as you call them, a Company of 

628. be [ from E; orig. is]. 


Scene I] 


Cptfom Witlln 


67 


wicked Fellows, the Scum of the Nation, Fel¬ 
lows that have no Religion in ’em, that swear 
and drink, and wench, and never consider me 63s 
that am disconsolate at home. 

Wood. Oh the incomprehensible blessings 
of Matrimony! 

Mrs. Wood. If I were so perfidious and false 
to take pleasure in a Gallant in the absence of 640 
my Husband; but I am too honest, too virtu¬ 
ous for thee, thou ingrateful Wretch : besides, 
if my Conscience would give me leave, I love 
you too well for that, you barbarous base 
Fellow. 645 

Wood. A Pox on her troublesom Vertue, 
would to Heaven she were a Whore, I should 
know then what to do with her. [Aside. 

Mrs. Wood. Other Women can be happy, 
and have their Husbands carry ’em abroad and 650 
delight in their Company, and be proud to be 
seen with them; but I have such an inhumane 
ingrateful Creature to mine! 

Wood. Come, come, I confess I am behind¬ 
hand with you, but I’le pay thee all thy arrears, 6 5s 
I have a stock in bank. 

[Embraces her , and offers to go into her Chamber .* 


637. blessings [from E; orig. blessing]. 
* [S. D.] and . . . chamber only in D. 


68 


(Bpsom OTelltf 


[Act II 


Mrs. Wood. Heaven, what shall I do ? 

Wood. Where’s the Key, Fie break open 
the door. 

660 Mrs. Wood. Let the Key alone, go get you 
gone, I am not so impatient, but I’le trust you 
till night, I should leave open the door, and let 
all my things be lost; go get you gone, you 
naughty man, I love you too well to hold out 
665 long. 

Wood. Well, now you’r come to your self, 
and speak reason, and have left off railing, Fie 
go and incourage my self with eating and 
drinking well, and return and pay you the fore- 
670 said sum with interest. [Exit. 

Mrs. Wood, opens the door. Are you gone ? 
Joy be with you, and more with me, Mr. Bevil. 

Enter Bevil. 

Bev. Madam, is he gone ? 

Mrs. Wood. Yes, now I hope we shall be 
67s safe from further interruption. 

Bev. ’Sdeath, this accident has frighted 
me so, that I am afraid to venture, lest I should 
be taken Pris’ner agen, and disappoint the 
Duellists. [Aside. 

680 And yet I will; come, Madam. 

672. me, Mr. Bevil. D, me. — Mr. Bevil t 


Scene I] 


Cpsotn Mellfi 


69 


Enter Peg. 

Peg. Madam, here’s Mrs. Jilt coming up to 
give you a Visit. 

Mrs. Wood. Why did you not deny me, 
Huswife ? Must that vain silly Wench come 
to trouble us at such a time too ? [Aside. 685 

Bev. That is she that reports every man 
that she sees is in Love with her, and would 
marry her, and has been a Whore these seven 
years. I will take my leave, I see this is an 
unfortunate day. 690 

Mrs. Wood. No, Tie get rid of her soon by 
some Trick or other. 

Bev. ’Tis impossible. Tie wait on you an 
hour or two hence, but now I am ingag’d upon 
my reputation, and must not break my ingage-695 
ment. Your Servant. [Ex. Bevil. 

Mrs. Wood. In such haste ? There must be 
something more than ordinary in’t, I long to 
know it. Peg , go and dog Mr. Bevil at a dis¬ 
tance, till you have fixt him somewhere, and 700 
let me have an account of the reason of his 
haste. 

Peg. Tie not fail. [Exeunt. 


703. [Exeunt.] [from E; orig. Exit]. 


7 ° 


dEpsorn Wells 


[Act II 


Enter Rains in the Field. 

Rains. I wonder Bevil stays so long, this 
70s Mrs. Woodly has no mercy [on] him, there’s some 
cross accident or other; for methinks after a 
year or two’s intrigue he should not be so very 
Termagant a Fellow; if these Roguy Bullies 
should come; but methinks they are a little 
710 slow too. Oh Bevil , are you come ? 

Enter Bevil. 

Bev. I beg your pardon, Jack , I have been 
lock’d up to save the Honour of a Lady, whose 
Husband came in most uncivilly without giv¬ 
ing us warning enough of it. 

715 Rains. Was that it ? But the Rogues 
begin to think ’twill come to Battaille, and 
their hearts misgive ’em. 

Bev. I was afraid of this. A Hector dares 
no more fight than be honest, and yet ’tis 
720 strange they should make it their Trade when 
they are so little fit for’t. 

Rains. ’Tis so in all Mankind, they are 
most violently bent upon the things they are 
least capable of, as if it were in spight of Nature. 
72s Bev. ’Tis true, so I have observ’d while a 

705. [on]. Accidently omitted Qi. 

716. Battaille. Q2, Q3, D, Battle. Q4, Battail. 


Scene I] 


Cpaom Wells? 


7i 


wise-man that’s fit for imployment is restrained 
by his modesty; your pragmatick dull Fool 
thrusts himself forward into policy and busi¬ 
ness. 

Rains. Great dulness qualifies men for great 
business, there’s nothing but order and road 
in it; your Mill-horse is a Creature of great 
business. The methodical Block-head that is 
as regular as a Clock, and as little knows why 
he is so, is the man cut out by Nature and For¬ 
tune for business and government. 

Enter Carolina and Lucia disguised. 

Hold, here come two sprightly Girls, this may 
prove the softer and pleasanter encounter of 
the two. 

Caro. I see they are men of Honour, and 
will answer a Challenge. 

Luc. Now are they meditating on blood, 
what a disappointment they’ll have. Well, 
men that are so punctual in their anger would 
sure be so in their love. 

Bev. Ladies, having the Honour to meet 
you in so solitary a place, we cannot but offer 
you our Service. 

Luc. You look as if you stayed here to make 
Ladies stand and deliver. 


730 

735 

740 

745 


750 


72 


(Epsom Wells 


(Act II 


Enter Peg. 

Rains. If you should deliver your best 
Jewel, I’de be very honest, and make but a 
little use on’t for the present, and you should 
carry it away with you ne’re the worse. 

7 55 Luc. I know the Law too well to compound 
a Felony. If you should take any thing of 
mine, you should e’en keep it as long as you 
live, but I’de prosecute you for’t. 

Peg. ’Tis enough, this is Mr. Bevils ingage- 

760 ment, that’s Carolina , and the other is Mrs. 
Lucia. [Exit. 

Caro. Ye don’t look as if you would make 
Love, but War; ye have long Swords, and 
your hair tuck’d up. 

765 Bev. If we were never so much inclin’d 
to War, you have power to soften us into 
Peace. 

Rains. They are pleasant Wenches; if 
they are handsom, we are undone. [To Bevil. 

770 Bev. Twice in a day catch’d with Vizor 
Masks! 

Caro. What wild Fellows hands are we fal¬ 
len into ? they run at all, you see, they know 
us not. [To Lucia. 

770, 771. Vizor Masks. Qj, Vizor Mask. 


Scene I] 


(flyout Melte 


73 


Luc. Oh, if witty men had but the constancy 775 
of Fools, what Jewels were they ? [To Carolina. 

Rains. Ladies, pray lay by your disguises, 
and let’s converse upon the square. 

Caro. You make all Prize, Gentlemen ; but 
Fie venture to show my face to you, Sir, if 7 8o 
you’ll give me your word not to discover it to 
your Friend. [To Rains. 

Rains. I do, Madam. 

Luc. And you shall see mine upon that 
condition. [To Bevil. 7 8s 

Bev. Upon my Honour I will not discover 
you. [They pull off their Masks. 

Rains. Ha, who’s this ? this is a Trick. 

[Aside. 

Madam, I confess you are very beautiful. I 
had the misfortune to lose a Heart this morn- 7 go 
ing in your Company, but I think, Madam, 
you did not take it up; but my Friend has 
something to accuse you of. 

Bev. I cannot invade the propriety of my 
Friend, though I must confess the great temp- 7 gs 
tation would excuse the crime. 

Rains. This is the Lady I must apprehend. 

[To Lucia. 

Bev. And, Madam, I must seize upon you. 

[To Carolina. 


74 Cptfom Well# [act ii 

Caro. Who says they are not a couple of 
800 constant men ? 

Bev. What, I warrant, you think we did 
not know you ? 

Luc. O yes, as Falstaff did the true Prince 
by instinct. You are brisk men, I see you 
80s run at all. 

Rains. The wilder we are, the more honour 
you’ll have in reclaiming us. 

Bev. ’Tis in your power to make us a couple 
of as constant dull Fellows as ye could wish. 

810 Caro. Ye have constancy enough of all 
conscience, for the use we shall have of it. 

Luc. And for dulness, for our own sakes we 
do not wish it you, since I find ye are resolv’d 
to be acquainted with us, whether we will or no. 
815 Caro. Is it not pity that witty men should 
be so scandalous, that if we converse with 
them, we must do it with the same privacy that 
Statesmen debauch. 

Bev. If wit be a scandalous thing, you are 
820 the most scandalous Women I have met with; 
but methinks Fools should rather be scanda¬ 
lous, since they can have but one way of pass¬ 
ing their time with you. 


804. men, I see. D, men, I see; 
823. you. [from E; omitted Qi.] 


Scene I] 


Welle? 


75 


Luc. You rally well, but your wit is never 
without extravagancy; you drink Burgundy 
perpetually, and Scower as you call it. 

Bev. We hate debauching, but love com¬ 
plaisance, Madam. And can no more deny a 
Friend that calls for another Bottle, than you 
can deny to turn up a Card at Ombre. 

Rains. We use Wine, Madam, to elevate 
our thoughts; but Love has don’t for me a 
pleasanter way. 

Bev. And, Madam, your Beauty has al¬ 
ready reclaim’d me. 

Luc. If y’are as soon drunk as y’are in love, 
y’are the weakest Drinkers in Christendom. 

Rains. You see, Madam, the strength and 
spirit of your Beauty. 

Luc. For love, I bar you; can’t we con¬ 
verse without remembring we are of different 
Sexes ? 

Caro. If you will accept of such conditions, 
we may sometimes admit you into our Privy- 
Council. 

Rains. Would you have us spend our time 
like some visiting Fools, that never aspire at 
more, than playing at Langtriloo with Women, 
all days of their lives ? 

832. don't. D, done it. 


825 

830 

835 

840 

845 


7 6 


d£p$om Wtelte 


[Act II 


850 Bev. Our communication would then be as 
dull and insipid, as the mirth of Statesmen. 

Enter Cuff and Kick. 

Luc. Yonders Company coming; such 
scandal has want of discretion brought upon 
your wit, that we dare not stay with you. 

855 Rains. Let’s have the honour to know your 
Names and Lodgings before you go ? 

Caro. Our Names are Carolina and Lucia; 
our Lodgings next House to Mr. Woodly s 
nearer the Wells. 

860 Bev. The Rogues are come at last. 

[Car. and Luc. retire. 

Cuff. Let’s make to the Bowling-Green, we 
shall be too late to begin to engage and bubble 
the Citizens. 

Kick. Who are these make toward us ? 

865 Luc. What do Rains and Bevil make up 
to yon two for ? 

Caro. We have done finely, if our feigned 
Challenge should occasion a real Duel — Let’s 
stay and observe. 

870 Rains. Come, Gentlemen, you are very late. 

Cuff. I hope we shall be time enough there. 

Bev. Y’have done scurvily to make us wait 
so long, we are not us’d to it. 


Scene I] 


dEptfom OTtelte 


77 


Kick. What the Devil do they mean, Cuff? 

Bev. Come, prepare. 87s 

Cuff. Prepare, to what ? 

Rains. ’Sdeath, ye Rascals, do you trifle 
with us ? Come Draw. 

Kick. Draw, Sir, why should we draw, Sir ? 

Cuff. What! this is for the Ladies in the 880 
morning, ne’re be jealous of us, Gad take me, 
we resign to ye. 

Rains. Why what impudent Rascals are ye, 
did not you send this Challenge ? 

Kick. We send a Challenge, Sir! 885 

Rains. Y’are a couple of harden’d Cowards. 

Kick. Cowards, Gad take me, ye were never 
so much in the wrong in your life. 

Cuff. But I believe if you did not think us 
Cowards, you’d scarce call us so. 890 

Bev. Ye shall be very much kick’d. 

Kick. We scorn to be kick’d, Sir. 

Cuff. I see some body behind the Trees, 
Kick; draw and be valiant. Kick’d, d’ye 
say ? I’d fain see that. 89s 

[ They draw , and fight retiring. 

Enter Lucia and Carolina. 

Luc. Hold, hold, Gentlemen. 

Caro. Hear us, what do you do ? 


78 


<&p$om Melltf 


[Act II 


Luc. Hold for Heavens sake. 

Rains. Oh you nimble-footed Rogues! we 

900 cannot run so fast forward as you do back¬ 
ward. 

Caro. What’s the matter, Gentlemen ? 

Bev. These Fellows sent us a Challenge, 
and then disown’d it. 

905 Kick. As Gad mend me, not we: But if 
we be not reveng’d on ’em Cuff — 

Cuff. What a Pox ail they ? we ne’re 
trouble such as they are, if they’ll be quiet; 
we know our men. 

910 Luc. No, to our knowledge they did not 
send the Challenge. 

Caro. The Challenge was sent by better 
Friends of yours, but such as would be as loth 
to engage with you at this Weapon, as they 

915 are, and would not have discovered this but 
to prevent bloodshed. 

Rains. Oh, is it so, Ladies ? 

Bev. ’Sdeath, what dull Rogues were we. 
Gentlemen, ye may go. 

920 Kick. Well, Sir, fare you well. 

Cuff. Who cares, you may pay for this 
though — 

[Ex. Cuff and Kick. 

Rains. Had you a mind to try our courage ? 


Scene I] 


om Wells? 


79 


Gad, we would have met ye in any ground in 
Christendom, without being dar’d to’t. 

Luc. We did send the Challenge, and are 
here to answer ye; make your best on’t. 

Bev. Faith, Ladies, if you shrink from us 
now, we shall think ye have as little Honour 
as yon Bullies have. 

Caro. We did not doubt your Honour, and 
pray don’t you doubt ours. 

Luc. We know you have too much wit to 
be vain upon this, and too much generosity to 
impute it to our weakness. We told ye you 
should hear from us, and we kept our words, 
not thinking of this accident. 

Caro. We had no way to quit the obliga¬ 
tions you did us in the morning, but this. 

Rains. But, Ladies, I hope you’ll give us 
leave now, to meet without these preparations, 
though we should be glad to meet you upon 
any terms. 

Bev. Shall we have free admittance ? 

Caro. So long as you use your freedom 
wisely. 

Luc. But let us now part in the next Field, and 
when you see us, still take this rule with you: 
Think not zvhat’s pleasant , hut what J s just and fit , 
And let discretion bridle in your wit. 


925 

930 

935 

940 

945 

95o 


80 CpSorn OTrlltf [act hi 

ACT III. SCENE I. 

Enter Mrs. Woodly and Peg. 

Mrs. Wood. Are you sure Bevil met with 
Carolina ? 

Pegg. I am sure ’twas one in her dress, 
and Mr. Rains walk’d with Mrs. Lucia; but 
5 I do not know but they might meet by ac¬ 
cident. 

Mrs. Wood. I’ll soon try that. Find some 
means to convey this Note to Bevil, as from 
Carolina. 

io Pegg. I will, Madam, and give you an 
account of it. [Exit Pegg. 

Mrs. Wood. If he be false, I shall soon turn 
my love into revenge. 

Enter Mrs. Jilt. 

Jilt. Madam, I beg your Ladiships pardon, 
is I have staid too long within ; my Maid brought 
me a Love Letter from a sweet fine person 
indeed, and I vow I could not but answer it. 

Mrs. Wood. No doubt you had reason. 

Am I sacrific’d to Carolina? [Aside. 

20 Jilt. He’s in the saddest condition for me, 
just for all the world like a man in a Consump- 


Scene I] 


(Epsom Melte 


81 


tion; Fie swear ’twould grieve your heart to 
see him : I’ll swear it would, Madam — 

Mrs. Wood. And why were you so cruel ? 

Jilt. I vow I am the strangest person for 25 
that in the whole world; I could not marry a 
Prince if I did not like his person strangely, and 
I have a world of choice, upon my word that’s 
all, I’ll swear it is. 

Mrs. Wood. Since you have such choice, 30 
why are you unmarried two days ? 

Jilt. I have such an odd fancy, Madam, I 
am so nice and hard to please, and I vow I 
don’t care for Marriage, but that I would be 
a little setl’d in the World, that’s all; there’s 35 
Mr. Bevily Oh he loves me dearly! 

Mrs. Wood. Love her! how she stabs me. 

[Aside. 

Jilt. And I’le swear he’s a fine person, I 
have the prettiest, sweetest, delicate Letters 
from him every day. 40 

Mrs. Wood. What says she ? [Aside. 

Jilt. Your Ladiship will be secret, I know: 
he has a strange passion for me; upon my 
word he sighs and sits with his Arms a-cross, 
and makes Doux yeux upon me; I’le swear 45 
’twould do your Ladiship good to see him. 
Now I think on’t I’le show your Ladiship the 


82 


C-paom Write 


[Act III 


kindest Letters from him. I have so many 
Love-letters, I vow I can scarce find it. I 
so have twice as many come to me in a week. 

[She pulls out a great bundle of Letters. 
Mrs. Wood. Vain silly Creature! 

Jilt. Oh here’s one of his hand ! 

Mrs. Wood. Heaven, it is his hand. 

Mrs. Wood. Reads] Mrs. Jilt, I wonder at 
55 the occasion of your mistrust , unless you 
have been tampering with some body else; I 
am very well , and drink much Hockamore , 
and perhaps have given you more occasion 
for a Midwife than a Surgeon. 

60 July 22. 72. Bevil. 

O perfidious [Wretch]! this is since my In¬ 
trigue with him. This will distract me; I 
could tear him in pieces. 

Jilt. Your Ladiship is disturb’d at some- 
65 thing. 

Mrs. Wood. No, no; but this is a very 
familiar Love-letter, as you call it. 

Jilt. Oh mischief! that I should put this 
among the rest of my Letters ; but I’le face her 
70 down in it, ha, ha, ha. 


61 . [Wretch]. Qi, Wreth. 


Scene i] Cpsom Well* 83 

Mrs. Wood . What’s the cause of your 
laughter ? 

Jilt. Ha, ha, ha, to see what a ridiculous 
mistake this was. It seems there’s a Wench 
in [Covent]-garden of my Name, and Mr. Bevils 75 
Man brought this Note to me instead of her; 
I’le swear he did, ha, ha, ha. 

Mrs. Wood. Oh Impudence! 

Jilt. We had such a quarrel about it; I 
did not speak to him for three days after, 1 80 
vow I did not. [Enter Peg. 

Mrs. Wood. How now, Peg , what News of 
Bevil? 

Peg. I got a Maid of my acquaintance to 
deliver the Note to him, which he received 85 
with the greatest Joy imaginable, and said he 
would wait on her instantly. 

Mrs. Wood. Oh perfidious Wretch! I’le 
to him immediately. Excuse me, Mrs. Jilt , I 
am in great haste. [Ex. Mrs. Woodly. 93 

Jilt. Your Servant, sweet Madam. She’s 
strangely nettl’d about something. Well, now 
we are alone, Sister, I’le owne thee; I hope 
your Lady knows not that we are of Kin. 

Peg. No nor any body else here. 95 

Jilt. Prithee keep it secret still, that I may 

75. [Covent]. Qi, Coven- 


8 4 




[Act III 


be taken for a greater person than I am; it 
will further my designs. 

Peg. But I wonder you will not bend all 
iooyour designs upon Mr. Clodpate. 

Jilt . I have baits ready for him, I can 
humour him to a hair; but Fie lay by no de¬ 
sign that can get me any manner of Husband, 
that’s once. But ’tis strange Clodpate and I 
105 should not meet, I lying in this house too where 
he comes often. 

Peg. Next time he comes to visit my 
Master, Fie give you notice. 

Enter Clodpate. 

Jilt. Oh me ! he’s here to our wish, and we 
no alone; remember your Cue. 

Clodp. Mr. Woodly is not here I see. 

Jilt. Oh that villainous lewd Town of 
London! how happy am I that am out on’t, 
nothing shall ever perswade me thither again, 
ns Peg. Why? Sir William your Father sent 
you thither for Breeding. 

Jilt. Breeding, yes ; could I not play, I am 
the Duke of Norfolk , Green Sleeves , and the 
fourth Psalm upon the Virginals; and did I 


104. once . D, once for all. 


Scene I] 


Ccpsom Wells 


85 


not learn, and could play six Lessons upon the 120 
Viol de Gambo before I went to that nasty, 
stinking, wicked Town ; out on’t ? 

Clodp. Ud’s bud, this is an ingenious 
Woman. 

Peg. Besides, Madam, though you be a 125 
Person of Quality, and have a good portion, yet 
London is the properest place to get a Husband 
in. 

Jilt. Oh foh — I’le swear I had rather 
marry a Farmer of forty pound a year in the 130 
Country, than a vain, idle, fluttering, foolish 
London- Fellow of two thousand pound a year. 

Oh the pleasure of a pretty innocent Country- 
life! 

Clodp. Ud’sooks she’s i’th’ right; as God 13s 
judge me, she’s a judicious person. 

Peg. Oh hang a dull silly Country-life. 

Clodp. A Pox on that Carrion, how I could 
beat her. 

Jilt. Out on thee for a foolish Wench; 140 
were I thy Lady, I’de turn thee away for that 
word. 

Peg. Pray pardon me, Madam, I am sorry 
I offended your Ladiship. 

Jilt. Can’st thou talk so after the Song the 145 
Fidler sung this morning in praise of the 


86 


<£p$ont Melte 


[Act III 


Country ? Oh that he were here, I should 
never be weary of hearing that Song. 

Peg. I see him yonder, I’le call him to you. 

[Ex. Peg. 

iso Clodp. Madam, I have over-heard and 
admired your excellent Discourse upon the 
Country. 

Jilt. Who are you, some bold, jeering, 
fleering Londoner? avoid my presence. 

iS 5 Clodp. Ud’s bud, you wrong me, I am a 
Country Justice, God’sooks. 

Jilt. Pray be gone, and leave me, you are 
some rude London Fellow; foh! you smell 
rank on’t. 

160 Clodp. As Gad shall save me she’s a fine 
person : if I were not ingag’d to Carolina I 
should like her strangely. 

Enter Peg and Fidler. 

Peg. Here’s the honest Fellow that sings the 
Song, Madam. 

165 Jilt. I have nothing to say to him, I am 
troubled with an impertinent Fellow here, and 
he shall not sing. 

Clodp. By your leave, Madam, ’tis in praise 
of the Country, and he shall sing. Sing, dear 

170 Rogue. 


Scene I] 


Cpsorn OTellef 


87 


Fidler sings. 

Oh how I abhor 

The tumult and smoak of the Town , 

The Clamours of War. 

The glittering Court , the fraudulent Gown , 

The Suburb debauches , 175 

The Cheats of the City , 

The ratling of Coaches , 

And the noise of the men they call witty. 

Clodp. Admirable. 

But give me the man from all vanity free y 180 

with good store of Land , 

And a Country Command , 
who honest dares be. 

Who Justice dares do , and the Nation will serve, 
And ne’re from his true Country principle swerve. 185 
This , this is the man for me. 

Jilt. Very fine. 

While the fluttering vain Gallant in London 
consumes 

His Estate in rich Cloaths and Perfumes , 

And with drinking and swilling corrupts all 

his health ; 190 


185. principle [from E; orig. principal]. 


88 




[Act III 


Or on Punk and on Bazud spends his youth and 
his wealthy 

While such shall his wit and his bounty 
applaud. 

Clodp. Admirable. 

Give me the good man that lives on his own 
grounds, 

195 And within his own bounds 

Has room for his Hawks and his Hounds, 

Can feast his own Tenants with Fowls and with 
Fishes, 

And from his own plenty with good store of 
Dishes, 

And not with damn d Wine, but with good 
English Ale 

200 O're their faithful hearts can prevail , 

And nothing to others does owe. 

But from his own house hears his own Oxen low, 
And his own Sheep bleat. 

While the grateful sounds sweet Ecchoes repeat. 

2-5 This, this is the man that is truly call'd great. 

Jilt. Excellent, there’s a Crown; pray 
come and sing this to me twice a day as long 
as I stay in Epsom. 

Fid. I will, Madam. 

200. O’re. Q3, D, O'er. 


Scene I] 


(Epsom Wells 


89 


Clodp. ’Tis incomparable, let me embrace 
thee, there’s ten shillings for thee; and if thou 
wilt live with me in Sussex , thou shalt never 
see London again. 

Fid. Pardon me, Sir, I was born and bred 
in London , and would not live out on’t for five 
hundred pound a year. 

Jilt. Out on you, you scurvy Fellow. 

Clodp. aside. A Pox on him for a Rascal. 
Thou art a very honest Fellow, give me my ten 
shillings agen, and I’le make it a Guinny. 

Fid. There ’tis and please you. 

Clodp. Ay, and here ’tis, and shall be. Do 
you think I’le let a London Rogue carry away 
ten shillings of my money ? 

Fid. Why, you will not take it away thus ? 

Clodp. Yes, I will, and you may thank 
Heaven that it is unseemly in a Magistrate to 
break heads. Be gone you insolent Rascal, 
lest you should tempt me to condescend to 
break yours. 

Fid. What the Devil, are they both mad ? 
farewel. [Ex. 

Clodp. An insolent London Rogue, to sing 
against his Conscience; but pray, Madam, let 
me salute you, you’re a fine person. 

220. Guinny. D, Guinea. 


210 

215 

220 

225 

230 

235 


9 ° 


Cpgom Well# 


[Act III 


Jilt. No, Sir, fare you well; Sir, you’re a 
Stranger, fare you well, I am none of those. 

[Exit Jilt. 

Clodp. Who’s this Mrs. Margaret ? 

Peg. She’s a Person oj Quality comes to 
240 Epsom for her pleasure, I must wait on her. 

[Exit Peg. 

Clodp. She’s a fine Lady, but I must to 
Carolina. [Exit Clodp. 

Enter Bevil in a Field. 

Bev. Carolina write to me to meet her 
alone ? She’s very frank; let me see, she says 
24s Meet me alone , that we may freely confer about 
an affair which nearly concerns us both. ’Sdeath 
I have dropt my Letter, unlucky accident, I 
must go back for’t. I cannot now, she’s 
here. 

[Enter Mrs. Woodly disguis’d. 
250 ’Tis a solitary place, and I hope no body will 
find it. 

Mrs. Wood. Ah false wretch ! how punctual 
he is. [Aside. 

Bev. Ah my dear Carolina. 

255 Mrs. Wood. Ah my cursed Bevil. [Aside. 

Bev. I have not words enough to acknowl¬ 
edge and thank you for this favour. 


Scene I] 


Cpaom OTelltf 


9 1 


Mrs. Wood. Nor I words enough to up¬ 
braid you for this injury. [Aside. 

Bev. How now, what is she dumb ? Madam, 260 
you see how conscientious I am in my duty of 
assignation; you shall always find me a man 
of Honour. 

Mrs. Wood. Yes, I thank you, you are a 
man of Honour [ Unmasks. 265 

Bev. ’Sdeath Mrs. Woodly! how unlucky is 
this, she’l stay too, and prevent my meeting 
with Carolina; I am undone, I must conceal 
the Intrigue. Nothing but impudence can 
bring me off. [Aside. 270 

Mrs. Wood. Unworthy man. 

Bev. You do well, pray who was this 
assignation made to ? I can watch your pri¬ 
vate haunts, you see, Madam. 

Mrs. Wood. Are you past all sense of 275 
modesty ? 

Bev. We shall soon see your Lover here, 

I suppose. 

Mrs. Wood. Have I caught you, and do 
you accuse me ? I have been as virtuous and as 280 
constant to my Intrigue as any Woman breath¬ 
ing : have I not had as many Addresses made 
to me by the fine persons of the Town and Court 
as any Lady has ? 


[Act III 


92 (Bptfom OTelte 

285 Bev. And have refus’d as few, I’ll say that 
for you. [Aside. 

Mrs. Wood. Have I not deny’d all to be 
constant to you ? 

Bev. Gad, I hate constancy in a Woman, 
290 after a little while; especially in an imperti¬ 
nent one, as much as constancy in a Quartane 
Ague. 

Mrs. Wood. And all this to be betrayed to 
Carolina! perfidious man ! 

295 Bev. Ha, ha, ha — I knew I should catch 
you; there was no way I knew to make you 
shew your face, but my pretending to another: 
Carolina I think I call’d her. 

Mrs. Wood. Oh abominable treachery! I 
300 forged that Letter from Carolina , which you 
even now receiv’d with the greatest joy imagin¬ 
able : Ungrateful man! 

Bev . Well, give me your little Punck, for 
Marriage is not so troublesom as the imperi- 
305 ousness of your Whore of Honour. [Aside. 

Mrs. Wood. Have I deserv’d this from you ? 

Bev. Well, I confess you have catcht me. 
I was indeed amaz’d at the Letter, having only 
heard of Carolina , and had a curiosity to see 
310 the meaning on’t. 

Mrs. Wood. Yes ’twas curiosity made you 


Scene I] 


€$ 8 om Witlla 


93 


walk with her in the Forenoon, in a Field 
beyond the New Inn. 

Bev. ’Sdeath, how came she to know it ? 

[Aside. 

Was that Carolina? [To her. 3 15 

Mrs. JVood. As if you did not know it, 
inhumane Creature. Nor is this all; I saw a 
Letter just now to one Mrs. Jilt , wherein you 
tell her you have given her more occasion for a 
Midwife than a Surgeon. 320 

Bev. ’Sdeath, how came she to see that ? 
She deals with the Devil ? 

Mrs. Wood. You shall find, ungrateful man, 
that love does as naturally degenerate into re¬ 
venge, as Wine into Vinegar: do you abuse 325 
me, a virtuous Lady, a Lady of Honour, for 
such a Creature, without any consideration of 
my Quality ? 

Bev. Pox on her Quality. This is all a 
mistake, Madam. 330 

Mrs. Wood. I know your Hand too well 
for that: you might use your little tawdry 
mercinary Creatures so, that flutter about the 
Town in their short-liv’d bravery: but a 
Woman of my Quality — 33s 

Bev. Well, however Tis in other things, I 
would have no liberty of Conscience in whoring ; 


94 


<£p$om Melte 


[Act III 


I would have none but those women hold forth 
that are in lawful Orders, ’tis the more setled 
340 way, and has more the face of Discipline. 

Mrs. Wood. If I be not reveng’d for this — 

Enter Woodly with a Note in his hand. 

Wood. How the Devil came Bevil to lose 
this Note in the Fields ? Carolina appoint to 
meet him privately ? I thought he ne’re had 
345 seen her — Death, how she Jilts me. 

[Reads. That we may freely confer about an 
Affair which neerly concerns us both. 

Carolina. 

Hell and Devil! he’s with her there; I’ll steal 
350 behind ’em and surprize ’em. So, Bevil , is this 
your private business ? 

Mrs. Wood. My Husband ! I dye, I dye. 

Bev. You have done well, you have frighted 
a Lady into a swound; Heaven knows what 
355 will become of her. 

Wood. I knew she would be surpriz’d. 

Bev. Unlucky man. 

Wood. Death, Ned , you’ll stifle her; pull 
off her Mask and give her more air. 

360 Bev. Pray forbear, Sir, you are not to see 
her; she recovers. 


Scene I] 


CDptfom Welte 


95 


Mrs. Wood. Give her more air, quoth a’ ? 
How he frightened me ! 

Wood. Good Sir Pol, make a secret on’t no 
longer; she may as well unmask, she and I are 365 
no strangers to one another. 

Mrs. Wood. What says he ? [Aside. 

Bev. You may have seen her, but you are 
not acquainted with her. 

Wood. Ad autre prithee leave fooling. 370 

Bev. Upon my Honour you are not — 

A Gentleman ought in Honour to lye for his 
Mistress. [Aside. 

Wood. I could sooner believe a Country 
Gentleman that swears and lyes for the honour 375 
of his Horse, when he is selling him. 

Mrs. Wood. He knows me; I am lost, 
undone for ever. 

Bev. Whatever happens, do not discover 
your self. 380 

Wood. I am oblig’d to you, you can be kind 
to others. 

Mrs. Wood. Can any thing be more plain ? 

Bev. Prethee, Woodly , trouble us no farther; 

I assure you you neither do nor shall know this 385 
Lady. 

Wood. Is it so? Fare you well. I will let 
’em alone at present. [Ex. Woodly. 


96 (H;p0om ®ell0 [Act hi 

Bev. He’ll go home, and discover that ’tis 
390 you. 

Mrs. Wood. As good luck would have it, I 
have the Key of the back Gate, and can be 
there before him : I hope I shall bear him down 
that it was not I. [Ex. Mrs. Woodly. 

39s Bev. I doubt not. Oh Woman, Woman! 
impudence and invention never fail thee at a 
pinch. [Exit. 

[A noise within of rub, rub , narrow , short , gone 

a thousand yards , and such like words of Bow¬ 
lers. 

Enter Bisket, Fribble, Cuff, and Kick. 

Cuff. Come, Mr. Bisket , let’s hold ’em 
t’other Game. 

400 Bisk. As I am an honest man I have lost 
all my money. 

Frib. And so have I, and yet you bowl’d 
like an Emperour, Neighbour Bisket , the two 
last Games, but Mr. Cuff’s hand was quite out. 
405 Bisk. A Deuce take it, we ne’re won one 
Game since Mr. Kick laid against us; and in 
my Conscience and Soul he is a Witch, for 
Mr. Cuff ne’re plaid well after. 

Cuff. I’ll make you amends if you’ll play 
410 again. 


Scene I] 


Weil* 


97 


Frib. But we have no money. 

Kick. I have 40 or 50 /. to spare, you shall 
have it betwixt you. 

[Mrs. Bisket and Mrs. Fribble look out at the 

Windozv. 

Bisk. No, we’ll drink a Bottle first and 
rest, my thighs ake with bowling. Cods me, 
yonder are our Wives looking out at the 
Window to see us bowl; poor Rogues, i’fack 
we’ll have a Bottle with them. I warrant you 
they have been dancing in a Barn yonder, with 
some Neighbours; I hear their Fiddles. 

Dor. Mr. Rains is not yonder; I’ll swear, 
he’s rare company. 

Mrs. Bisk. A Murrain take you; and you 
had not troubled us with your impertinence, 
he had been better company to me to day than 
he was. [Aside. 

Dor. Yonder are our Husbands, I am 
resolv’d as you have advis’d me to pluck up a 
spirit. But let’s down to ’em now, for fear we 
lose ’em. [They go down. 

Bisk. Now here’s my Wife, I’ll be bold to 
say, I’ll shew you the handsomest Woman in 
Epsom. 

Frib. It must be my Wife then, I’ll tell 
you that. 


415 

420 

42s 

430 


435 


9 8 


(Eptfom Wells 


[Act III 


Bisk. Your Wife handsomer than mine! 
that’s pleasant, ha, ha. 

Cuff. This may prove as good as bowling 
with them. 

440 Kick. I never saw two so cut out for honest 
tame suffering Cuckolds. 

Cuff. There are many as fit here, if their 
Wives be as handsom as they say theirs 
are. 

445 Frib. Come, I’ll hold you 20 s. to be spent, 
and these Gentlemen shall be Judges here. 

Bisk. With all my heart. But I am sure 
mine is the prettiest, neatest, titest Woman in 
the Ward. 

450 Frib. I have seen our Minister stare at my 
Wife in her Pew, ’till he has been out in his 
Sermon, she’s so pretty. And you shall see, 
Gentlemen, what discipline I keep her in; ’tis 
the obedientest poor Creature ! 

455 Bisk. Nay, mine has some humours, but 
they become her so prettily, and ’tis the sweet¬ 
est little Rogue! I vow she has had more 
temptations than any Woman in Cheapside, 
ne’re stir. 

460 Frib. More temptations than my Wife, I 
scorn your words. There are a company of 
the bravest Gallants come to my Shop to see 


Scene I] 


(Epsom MeUs 


99 


her, and she’ll not speak to any of them — 
i’faith not she. 

Bisk. I have known Knights, nay Lords in 465 
love with my Wife, and she does make such 
Fools of ’em all. Poor Rogue, ha, ha, ha, my 
dear Lamb, art thou come ? 

Enter Mrs. Bisket and Dorothy. 

Mrs. Bisk. Yes, you Sot; but is’t not time 
for you to come home ? Mr. Rains has been 470 
gone this three hours. 

Bisk. I told you she had some humours. 
Pretty Duck, i’fack now I have catch’d you, 

I’ll give you a Bottle of Wine and a Quart of 
Mum. 475 

Frib. These are my Friends, Gentlemen, 
an please you. 

[He presents them to his Wife , and they salute her. 

Bisk. This is my Duck, Gentlemen. 

[They salute Mrs. Bisket. 
Has not my Lamb a rare way of kissing ? I 
warrant you for the Wager, Neighbour. 480 

Frib. I fear you not. 

Cuff. What admirable Cuckolds and Bub¬ 
bles have we met with. 

Frib. Now, Gentlemen, observe; here’s a 
stately forehead. 48s 


IOO 


Cpsom Wells? 


[Act III 


Bisk. But here’s a delicious Eye-brow, and 
sweet rowling wanton Eye: She’s my Cacara 
camouchi , my pretty Pigs nye, as Mamamouchi 
notably has it. 

490 Kick. Excellent fine. 

Mrs. Bisk. Alas, alas ! I, but what do you 
mean by this ? you are always fooling thus 
before Company. 

Bisk. Peace, I have laid a Wager on thy 
495 head, against Mrs. Fribble. 

Frib. Here are pretty plump red lips. 

Bisk. But see my Ducks teeth, and smell 
her sweet breath. Breath on ’em Duck. 

Frib. Here’s pure red and white; here’s a 
soo shape. 

[He turns her round. 

Cuff. Most admirable. 

Frib. ’Tis your goodness, Sir. 

Kick. These Fools praise their Wives, as 
Horse-Coursers do their Horses, to put ’em off. 
505 Bisk. Prethee Dear do but shew them a 
little of your Foot and Leg, good duck, now if 
thou lovest me, do prethee now. 

Mrs. Bisk. Well, well, so I can : there ’tis. 

Bisk. A little higher, but up to your Garter, 
510 good Lamb. 


%*>*>> 


491. alas! I, D, alas, I! 


Scene I] 


(O;p0om Wells 


IOI 


Mrs. Bisk. You are such a simple Fellow. 

Cuff. Oh, ’tis charming ! 

Mrs. Bisk. You are so obliging really. 

Frib. Here’s a fine round small white hand. 

Kick. Extreme fine. 515 

Mrs. Frib. You are pleas’d to Complement. 

Frib. Now you shall see how obedient my 
Wife is, she durst as well eat her Nails as refuse 
what I command. Doll , pray kiss these two 
Gentlemen immediately. Now you shall see. 520 

Dor. Pray, Dear, what do you mean ? 

Frib. How now, Huswife, dare you dispute 
my Commands, Hah ? 

Dor. Be not angry, I must obey. 

Kick. Your Servant, dear Madam. 525 

[They kiss her. 

Cuff. Your humble Servant. 

Frib. Look you, did I not tell you what 
Discipline she was under ? 

Bisk. Good sweet dear Lamb, do thee as 
much ; if thou lov’st me, do. 530 

Mrs. Bisk. Not for your bidding : but they 
shall find I am not behind Mrs. Fribble in good 
breeding. 

Bisk. Gentlemen, my Dear shall salute 
you too. 


516. complement. D, compliment. 


535 


102 


€p0om Weils 


[Act III 


Frib. Ay it won’t do. 

Kick. Your Servant, dear Lady. 

Cuff. Sweet, Madam, your humble Servant. 

Frib. Come now, let’s in, and be very 

540 merry, and decide the Wager. 

Kick. Allons, this is the most extraordinary 
adventure, but you know we have a weighty 
Affair in hand; our Bullies will be all ready 
immediately. 

545 Cuff. We’ll swinge the Rascals, Rains and 
Bevil: but we must make haste, this is the 
time they use to come to the Bowling-Green; 
we’ll meet them. 

Kick. There is another weighty affair. 

550 Clodpate is to dust his Stand of Ale, and he 
must be bubbled; we have not long to stay 
with ’em. 

Cuff. We must borrow our selves of ’em for 
a while. 

555 Frib. Gentlemen, will you please to walk 
in ? 

Cuff. Come on. [Ex. omnes. 

Enter Rains and Lucia. 

Luc. A man of wit and make love! leave 
off this foolish old fashion’d subject: I’d have 

560 all discourse between us tend to something. 


Scene I] 


Cp0om OTells; 


103 


Rains. ’Tis as unseasonable for a young 
Lady not to entertain love, as for a Judge or a 
Bishop to make love. 

Luc. Love is so foolish and scandalous a 
thing, none now make use of any thing but 565 
ready money. 

Rains. Methinks ready Love is a pretty 
thing. 

Luc. But there are few in this Age have it 
about ’em. 570 

Rains. I have as good a Stock, and am as 
full of love, Madam — 

Luc. That you squander it away upon 
every one you see, as a young Prodigal newly 
of age, treats and pays reckonings for every 57s 
body. 

Rains. How prodigal soever I have been, I 
am resolv’d to take up in my expences, and 
reserve all my love for you. 

Luc. For me? I am as hard to be fixt as 580 
you : I love liberty as well as any of ye. 

Rains. Say you so? Faith, let’s make use 
on’t. 

Luc. Not the lewd liberty you mean: 
Come, to divert us better, go a little further 585 
and try the Eccho; here is an extraordinary 

587. Eccho. Q3, D, Echo. 


104 


<£p$om ©I&eite 


[Act III 


one that will answer you to as much purpose 
as I can. 

Rains. ’Tis a fine Eccho, but, Madam — 
[Ex. Rains and Lucia. 

Enter Woodly and Carolina. 

sgo Caro. Nothing but love, love: always one 
Note like a Cuckow. 

Wood. Fine Jilt , I can no more restrain 
my self, than a Fanatick full of new lights and 
revelations can himself. 

595 Caro. Can I suffer this any longer without 
prejudice to my virtue and honour ? let me 
hear no more, you will not suffer me to use you 
like a Gentleman. 

Wood. I am too loyal to rebel against you, 
6oobut I may attack your evil Counsellors, your 
virtue and honour. 

Caro. You’ll find them impregnable. 

Wood. Virtue and Chastity unsociable fool¬ 
ish qualities! I hope to live till every such 
605 Woman shall be thought vicious, or at least as 
much scandalous as a Lawyer with a tatter’d 
Gown out of practice: We are in a fair way to 
it. 

606, 607. Lawyer . . . practice. D, Lawyer out of Practice with a 
tattered Gown. 


Scene I] 




IO S 


Caro. If you resolve to persist in this sub¬ 
ject, I will ask the advice of your Lady before 610 
I treat further. 

Wood. Say you so, Madam ? there is a 
pleasant Field behind my Lodgings, ’tis deli¬ 
cate walking there at this time o’day, espe¬ 
cially if you have one you like there. 615 

Caro. What say you, Sir ? 

Wood. No, no, Madam, you were not there, 
you know not what I mean. 

Caro. What Riddle’s this of yours ? 

Wood. But the Lady was not so ill to pull 620 
off her Mask, and discover her face, tho’ for 
more Air. 

Caro. You are mad; that, I confess, is one 
sign of a Lover. 

Wood. Oh Woman-kind, the Original of all 625 
lying, I confess he said upon his Honour, I did 
not know her, but I could read her Note, it 
would not do. 

Caro. This is so extravagantly ridiculous, 
it deserves no serious Answer. 63° 

Enter Bevil. 

Wood. Here’s Bevil, I’le not show her Note 
till I have an opportunity to push this business 


[Act III 


106 (fytfom Mrtte 

home. — I knew you were not far off, Ned, 
come. 

635 Caro. Does he know of our interviews ? 

[Aside. 

Bev. What mean’st thou, Franck ? 

Wood. You are not acquainted with this 
Lady, no. 

Bev. I wish nothing more than the acquaint- 
640 ance of so fine a Lady. 

[Rains and Lucia appear. 

Wood. What impudence is this that makes 
thee fool with me any longer thus ? Yonder’s 
Rains, he is not acquainted with my Cousin 
Lucia neither. No, no, come, Rains, you may 
645 show your self, your Intrigue is discovered. 

Rains. What Intrigue, Franck? 

Wood. Cousin Lucia, your Servant; I see, 
Sir, you can serve your self without the help 
of your friends. 

650 Rains. Is this his Cousin Lucia ? 

Luc. Oh! is that the Intrigue ? These 
two Gentlemen rescu’d us this morning from 
the insolence of two Hectors. 

Caro. Yes, and with their Swords protected 
6ss us from their violence, and reveng’d the affront. 

Luc. We are not so ungrateful to disowne 
those that had oblig’d us so much. 


Cpsotu Wells 


Scene I] 


107 


Caro. This morning was the first time they 
ever saw us. 

Wood. You are grown very familiar already, 660 
Madam. 

Caro. If I be, you are not concern’d, I 
assure you. 

Wood. I fear too much. But how do you 
like Lucia , Jack ? have you a design of lying 66s 
with her one way or other ? 

Rains. Mum, Woodly , or I will discover all 
your Rogueries to your Lady Bright at home; 
be satisfied I like her too well to dishonour her. 
But to divert this. 670 

[He whistles and the Fiddles flourish. 

Wood. What a Devil’s this ? 

Bev. We are fallen into an Ambuscade of 
Fiddlers. 

Luc. Do you conjure ? 

Caro. You charm the Air to give us 675 
Sounds. 

Rains. The truth is, Madam, ’tis a Trap I 
have laid for you, and you have no way but to 
dance your self out on’t. 

Caro. No, then I am resolv’d to free my 680 
self as soon as I can. Play a Jigue. 

[She dances. 


681. Jigue . Qz , D, Jig. 


[Act III 


108 CpSom Metis 

Enter Clodpate with a Dog. 

Clodp. What, you are merry with your 
Fiddles. I have been hunting up and down 
for Madam Carolina; I came to present you 
68s with some Country Partridges; here’s dear 
Tray , a Swj\r^-Dog, set ’em for you. Oh he 
ranges with such mettle, and points so true. 
Poor Tray , Gad I love and honour him. 

Bev. That Tray is the better qualifi’d Beast 
690 of the two. 

Clodp. Pray, Madam, kiss him a little. 

Caro. Kiss a Dog ? 

Clodp. A Dog, Ud’sooks he has as sweet a 
breath as any man, I won’t say Lady, has. 
695 Your scurvy London -Ladies feed their Dogs 
at their Tables, and have Joynts of Mutton 
roasted on purpose for ’em, and make them their 
Bed-fellows for want of better. But since you 
don’t love a Dog, Madam, I’ie be bold to say, 
700 yonder’s the beautifull’st Dapple Mare of mine 
that my Man leads there. There’s a Buttock, 
Madam, how clean she treads upon her Pas¬ 
terns. There’s a Body round as a Barrel; 
there’s a Head and Neck finely rais’d, a delicate 
70s broad Chest. Gods’ooks she’s the finest fore- 


705. Gods’ooks. Q3, Gads’ooks. Q4, D, Guds’ooks. 


Scene I] 


Cpgom Melte 


109 

handed Mare in Christendom, there’s Beauty, 
and you talk of Beauty. 

Rains. He describes his Mare so passion¬ 
ately, I shall begin to suspect her vertue. 

Clodp. But I must desire some words with 
you in private. 

Caro. I am going to visit now; but shortly 
I will hear you. 

Clodp. I had waited on you sooner, but that 
I have been giving out Warrants, and binding 
some London Rogues to the Peace, and the like. 
Thus I represent the Kings Person, I. 

Caro. You are the worst Picture of him 
that ever I saw. 

Clodp. I am content, Madam, to imploy my 
self in business, and to serve my Country, while 
your London Sparks, lascivious libidinous 
Swines, follow their beastly lusts and sensual 
pleasures. Poor Fools, I pity ’em. 

Wood. Why, we have Justices of the Peace 
that serve the Nation at London. 

Clodp. What, honest ones ? thank you for 
that; they are the greatest Malefactors there; 
they make a pretty Trade on’t in the Suburbs 
with Bribes received from Pads, Pick-pockets, 
and Shop-lifts, with the Taxes they raise from 

707. and. D, an. 


710 

715 

720 

725 

730 


no 


(Epsom Wells 


[Act IH 


labouring Whores, and Contributions from 
Tributary Bawds; but Gentlemen, will you 
dust a stand with me ? 

Enter Kick and Cuff with six more. 

73 S Rains. We are all engag’d. 

Kick. Here they are, they shall find that 
none shall affront any of our Gang unpunisht. 

Cuff. As long as we Bullies hold together, 
we defie the World, we’ll chastise their inso- 

74olence: fall on. 

[They fight , and Lucia and Carolina shreek* 
and run away. 

Kick. Come, have at you. 

Rains. How now. 1 

Bev. Rogues. > 

Wood. You Dogs. J 

745 Clodp. Hold, I command you in the Kings 
Name keep the Peace. I am a Justice of 
Quorum , and represent the Kings Person. I 
say keep the Peace, or Pie bind you all over to 
the Sessions. 

[The Bullies are beaten off. 

750 Wood. Let’s pursue the Rogues, and now 
we have won the field take them Prisoners. 

* [S.D.] shreek. D , shriek. 

748. all. [omitted in D.] 


Scene I] 


(Bpsom Wells 


hi 


Rains. Dam ’em, they are not worth our 
persuit; I know two of ’em, and shall find out 
the rest. 

Clodp. Go, I say, and bring ’em before me, 755 
and I will bind ’em to the Peace, and make ’em 
be of good abearing till the next Sessions, or 
they shall forfeit their Recullisence. 

Bev. We are oblig’d to you for your help, 
you fought bravely. 760 

Clodp. ’Tis very indecent for a Magistrate 
to fight, I will give you Law. 

Wood. ’Pox of his Cowardize; but what 
mean these Rogues ? 

Rains. Let’s find the Ladies, I’le tell you 765 
as we go. [Exeunt. 


ACT IV. SCENE I. 

Enter Clodpate, two Country-Fellows, Cuff, and Kick 
in Country-Habits. 

Kick. These Disguises have done us 
Knights-Service. 

Cuff. He’ll begin to be drunk by and by, 
preach the Parson upon him, or try Coal 
under the Candlestick, even or odd with a s 

753. Persuit. Qt, D, pursuit. 

761. indecent [from E; orig. indencent]. 


112 Cpsfom Melte [activ 

Witness, or the grande Game at Put, for I find 
he hates Dice. 

Clodp. Come, Gentlemen, put about a Cup 
of Ale. ’Tis stingo i’faith; is not this better 
iothan your foolish French Kickshaw Claret? 
This is of the growth and product of our own 
Country, and we encourage the noble Manu¬ 
facture of Ale. How say you ? come fill all. 

[Drinks. 

1 Count. His Worship is a notable man in 
15 the Politicks as e’re a Justice of England , no 

dispraise — 

2 Count. He has a brave Head-piece of his 
own. 

Clodp. Fill again once, Oh Gentlemen, 
20 things do not go well. There’s the Streights 
Trade I was speaking of, why it signifies not a 
Farthing to us; for, look you, if the Manu¬ 
facture or Commodity exported, be not equal 
to the Commodity imported, we must mine our 
25 Trade, that’s clear demonstration. Now we 
send them money in specie for foolish super¬ 
fluities, for Currans to make Mince-pyes with; 
it grieves my heart to think on’t: but come, 
dust it away. 

30 Kick. Your Worship speaks like an Oracle. 

19. once. D, once more. 27. Currans. D, currants. 


Scene I] 


dBp0om Well* 


ii 3 


Clodp. Then there’s your Canary Trade 
takes away not one of our Manufactures. 
Well, no more to be said, I am not thought 
worthy, but here’s to you. [Drinks. 

Cuff. A very politick Coxcomb. [Aside. 35 

1 Count. What News is there in the Gazette, 
an’t please you ? 

Clodp. Why there ’tis. We keep a puther 
about the honest Dutch , I say nothing, but I 
hate French Fricasies and Ragousts, and French 40 
Dances too; but no more to be said, fill agen. 
Gud’sooks here’s your true English Ale and 
your true English Hearts. [He drinks. 

2 Count. I purtest he’s incomparable man. 

Clodp. In the mean time poor Poland’s as 

in danger, and yet Sohieski’s a pretty man, and 
Wisnozviski , and Lubomirski , and Potoski too, 
pretty men, very pretty men; but alas! they 
are but men, we ne’re think of assisting ’em, 
and poor Poland may be lost, and we are in a 50 
fine condition; but here’s t’other Pot. 

[All drink. 

Kick. Excellent Coxcomb ! — But what hurt 
can the loss of Poland do us, Sir ? 


38. puther. D, pother. 

44. he's incomparable. Q4, D, he’s an incomparable. 
47. Wisnowiski. [ fromE ; orig. Wisnoweski). 


€pstoxn Wells? 


[Act IV 


II 4 


Clodp. Lord, that you should ask such a 
55 question, why ’twill spoil our Trade of Tin; 
no people in the World can make Lattin Ware, 
or work our Tin well but they; the Germans 
indeed pretend to it: this would trouble a man 
that loves his Country as I do. 

60 2 Count. What Religion are they of in 

Poland , an’t please your Worship ? 

Clodp. Why they are Christians, they are 
not within the Pale indeed, but they are very 
good out-liers. 

6s Cuff. Let’s ply him hard. Come here’s a 
Health to all your Deputy Lieutenants. 

Clodp. Come on, I hope to be one my self; 
I serve the Nation upon a true Country-prin¬ 
ciple, and have as many friends as any man 
70 upon a National account. 

1 Count. Here’s News from Ditto; an’t 
please your Worship, what place is that ? I 
ask’t our Minister, and he could not tell me. 

Clodp. Fy upon him ; why Ditto is a Town 
75 in Pomerania , a very fine Town : but fill agen. 

Kick. Here’s a Health to the Bishop of 
Munster. 

Clodp. Excuse me, Sir, he’s a Popish 
Bishop, and I’le drink ne’re a Papists Health 

74. Fy. Qs, Fie. 


Scene I] 


(Epsom Wells 


“5 


on ’em all; he a Clergy-man, and run up and 80 
down souldiering and fighting! truly he may 
be asham’d on’t; and he were a godly man, 
he’d stay at home and preach; I hate a lazy 
Bishop that won’t preach ; but here’s my Cup. 
Come on, Udsooks, I begin to be fox’t. 85 

Cuff. That’s good News, Kick. 

Clodp. Well, Poland's a brave Nation, and 
they have a Company of the fiercest magnani¬ 
mous Fellows, your I skies, 0 skies, Jr skies, 
Ouskies, Erskis, and the Cossacks upon the 90 
Ukrain, there’s a Monarchy as it should be, 
every thing governed by the great Council. 

Uds bud they have the best Diet in Christen¬ 
dom. 

2 Count. Nay, with his Worships leave, an’95 
they have better Diet than English Beef, I’le 
be sacrific’d — 

1 Count. An’t please your Worship we’ll 
present you with a Country-dance; we have 
Companions without, if you please, Sir. 100 

Clodp. With all my heart. 

[Dance of two Clowns and two Country Wenches. 
Uds bud, my head begins to turn round; but 
let’s into the house. ’Tis dark, we’ll have one 
Bellarmine there, and then Bonus Nocius, I 

85. fox’t. Q3, D, fox’d. 


116 CDptfom Well# [Act iv 

105 must to my Mistress, she’s the prettiest 
Rogue — 

Sings] 

Her Lips are two Brimmers of Claret , 

Where first I began to miscarry , 

Her Breasts of delight 
no Are two Bottles of white , 

And her Eyes are two Cups of Canary. 

[Ex. omnes. 


Enter Rains. 

Rains. Mrs. Jilt appointed to meet me here, 
she’s handsom, and I hope sound. I love 
Lucia even to the renouncing of Wine and good 
115Company; but flesh and blood is not able to 
hold out her time without some refreshment 
by the bye. 


Enter Mrs. Jilt. 

Jilt. O are you here! well, you think me a 
strange confident person to meet you thus; 

120 but if I had not known you to be a fine sweet 
man, and ’tis dark, and you cannot see my 
blushes, Sir, I would have suffered all the 
extremities in the World before I would have 
done it, Pie swear I wou’d. 


Scene I] 


CBp0om OTelte 


117 


Rains. What extremities can you suffer, 125 
pretty Mrs. Jilt. 

Jilt. No, ’tis no matter what I suffer, Alas ! 
Alas! 

Rains. What’s the matter ? 

Jilt. I am the most unhappy Lady in the 130 
whole World, I’le swear, ah, ha; but ’tis no 
matter, I may thank my self for’t, I vow. 

Rains. What, have you lost friends or 
money ? 

Jilt. No, no, I have something nearer my 13s 
heart than all that. ’Tis not money that I 
care for, I’le swear, not I. 

Rains. I find that some body has catch’d 
you, you are in Love. 

Jilt. If I were not in Love, I were a happy 140 
Woman; but now I am the most unfortunate 
Maid in the whole World, I’le swear, oh, oh. 

Rains. Fy on’t, young and pretty, and 
despair in this Age. 

Jilt. Oh, but this is so fine, so excellent a 145 
person, he’ll ne’re love me, I am ruin’d, oh, oh. 

Rains. Who is this bewitching man ? 

Jilt. Oh it’s no matter, alas! who cares 
what becomes of me ? a poor inconsiderable 
person, tho’ none can say I am not a Gentle- 150 
woman, and well bred, but ’tis no matter. 


118 


€p#om MeU0 


[Act IV 


Oh, oh, but the Gentleman is no ill friend of 
yours, upon my word, now. 

Rains. Prithee who is it ? 

15s Jilt . A great acquaintance of Mr. Bevils, a 

Norfolk Gentleman. 

Rains. ’Sdeath, she won’t put this upon 
me at last, he’s acquainted with none of my 
Country but my self. [Aside. 

160 Jilt. He’s the wittiest, finest, handsomest, 
well-bred Gentleman in the whole World, I’le 
swear. 

Rains. Prithee tell his Name, I can be 
secret. 

165 Jilt. The first Letter of his Name is R. but 
why should I say so much ? I am a lost 
Woman, he’ll never love me, oh, oh. 

Rains. Though not by your fine descrip¬ 
tion, yet by my Country and my Name you 
i7owou’d perswade me, that I am the happy man. 

Jilt. She kisses his hand. Now shall I 
never see you agen, you’ll hate me for my con¬ 
fidence. Oh that my Tongue should betray 
me thus! Oh that I had bit it out before I 
175 had said this! Oh my heart will break, Fie 
swear. 

Rains. Gad, her Tears have mollifi’d me: 
it shall ne’re be said a Woman shall dye under 


Scene I] 


Wells 


119 


my hands; but she might have brought it 
about without all these Circumstances. [Aside. 180 

Jilt. Oh unfortunate Woman! I know 
you’ll hate me for this, oh, oh. 

Rains. No, my Dear, I am none of those, 
do but step into my Lodging where there’s a 
good Convenience as can be; and if I do not 185 
give you as good proof of my affections — 

Jilt. Good Sir, you mistake me; do you 
take me for a Strumpet ? No, Sir, I’de have 
you to know I am no such, I swear. 

Rains. I know you are modest; but Lovers 190 
should lay by that. 

Jilt. I lay by my modesty! Heaven for¬ 
bid, you are a wicked libidinous person; I 
wonder you have the confidence to affront one 
of my Birth and Breeding thus like a base man. 195 

Rains. Oh, oh, all this talk of love is a 
trick, is it ? you might have plac’d it better, 
good Madam Jilt. 

Jilt. No, Sir, it is no trick, and that you 
should find, if you would but — 200 

Rains. But what ? 

Jilt. But marry me; that’s all, I swear. 

[Cries. 

Rains. All, in the Devils name! Marry, 
quoth she, Zounds what a word was that ? 


120 




[Act IV 


205 Jilt. I knew how I should be us’d by an 
ungrateful man; oh that I should betray my 
weakness, oh, oh! 

Rains. Fare you well, good Mrs. Jilt: 
’Sbloud, marry ? ha, ha, ha, ha. [Ex. Rains. 
210 Jilt. Miserable Woman, how unlucky am 
I ? but I am resolv’d never to give over ’till I 
get a Husband, if I live and breath. [Exit Jilt. 

Enter Mrs. Woodly, Lucia, and Carolina. 

Lucia. This is your Husbands story. 

Mrs. Wood. No, ’tis their own, I assure 
215 you: why did you intend your acquaintance 
with Rains and Bevil should be a secret ? 
that’s pleasant, they have only proclaim’d it 
in the Town, yet no where else. 

Caro. They cannot be so base; we saw ’em 
220 but by accident. 

Mrs. Wood. By accident! you are pleasant, 
Madam, ha, ha, ha. 

Luc. What’s the cause of your unseemly 
mirth. Cousin ? 

225 Mrs. Wood. By accident Mr. Rains applys 
himself wholly to you, and by accident Mr. 
Bevil makes love to you, Madam ; by accident 
ye all met in a Field this Forenoon, by accident, 
Madam, Mr. Bevil expected you to meet him 


Scene i] (H;p$om OTelte 121 

alone in a Field on the backside of my Lodg¬ 
ing. 

Caro. Me! you drive a jest too far; do 
you intend to affront me ? 

Mrs. Wood. I have no mind to fall under 
the lash of their malitious tongues; but I 
walked over that Field in a Masque, Bevil 
meets me, calls me dear Carolina, said he had 
obeyed my summons, and that I was punctual 
in my assignation, thankt me for the favour 
of my Note — 

Caro. Heaven! what do I hear ? this is 
your project, you must be acquainted with 
witty men. 

Luc. Unworthy men! have they no sense 
of honour ? 

Enter Mr. Woodly. 

Mrs. Wood. Yonder, I believe, comes one 
of them ; Lie leave ye lest I should be suspected 
to tell this. [Ex. Mrs. Woodly. 

Wood. I love Carolina so, I must undermine 
Bevil , whom I fear she’s inclin’d to; I must 
render Rains suspected too, lest they should 
clear one another. 

Luc. If this be true, we have been finely 
mistaken. 


230 

235 

240 

245 

250 


235. malitious . Qq, D, malicious. 


122 


€p&om OTellsf 


[Act IV 


255 Wood. Oh Ladies, are you here, you’re 
punctual, are your new Gallants come yet — 
Perhaps I may guess right. [Aside. 

Caro. What Gallants ? 

Wood. Nay, perhaps it may be a mistake; 
260 but I was told by 5 or 6 Gentlemen upon Clay- 
Hill, that you were to meet with Rains and 
Bevil privately this night here in Mawses 
Garden; that’s all. 

Caro. O base perfidious men ! 

265 Luc. We meet ’em ? 

Wood. Why, did you think it had been a 
secret, so is a Proclamation, they themselves 
have bragg’d on’t. 

Caro. Do they already boast of our easiness, 
270vile men! Well I see we must condemn our 
selves to the conversation of dull sober Fools. 

Luc. Or which is as bad, confine our selves 
to the impertinence of our own Sex. 

Wood. I proffer’d to day to bring Rains 
275 acquainted with you, Cousin; but he refus’d 
it, and said he would not marry you for his own 
sake, nor lie with you for mine; and that a 
man had no excuse for himself, that visited a 
Woman without design of lying with her one 
280 way or other. 

262. Mawses. Q3, D, Mawse’s. 


Scene I] 




123 


Luc. Oh Impudence! 

Wood. They are men of wit and good com¬ 
pany, but not so fit for young Ladies that love 
reputation; but I hope my Cousin is not so 
intimate with Rains , as you are with Bevil , 285 
Madam ? 

Caro. I intimate with him, what mean 
you ? 

Wood. You are pleasant, Madam; I mean 
she does not meet him alone, as you do Bevil. 290 

Caro. Had he the impudence to say this ? 
or have you so little honour to believe the words 
of a vain idle fellow ? 

Wood. But I must believe my eyes : did I 
not see you with him mask’d ? and speak to 295 
you, by the same token you fell into a swound 
at the surprize ? 

Caro. You are mad, Sir, or would make me 
so. 

Wood. To shew you I am not mad, there’s 300 
the Note you wrote to Bevil. 

Caro. That I wrote ? Heaven! Lucia do 
you hear what Monsters of men our ill fate, or 
your worse Conduct have thrown us upon ? 
Let’s in and read this Note. 305 

Lucia. How am I amazed ? 


296. Swound. D, Swoon. 


124 


Cpsom Wells 


[Act IV 


Wood. All this confidence won’t clear her 
with me; I know Woman-kind too well. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter Rains and Bevil. 

Rains. Lucia and Carolina are slipt into the 
310 House, or some Arbour. I see a Hackney 
Coach, for they resolv’d not to bring their 
own. 

Bev. Death, that we lewd young fellows 
shou’d be catch’d thus; I ne’re had any love 
315 yet, that I could not satisfie with Gold, or 
wash away with Burgundy; but to be content 
to leave all the numerous Ladies of the Game 
in London , for two that on my conscience are 
foolishly honest. 

320 Rains. But by your leave, Bevil , London is 
overstock’d with Wenches, that like too many 
Hares in a Hare-Warren, they cross our hunt¬ 
ing, and we can make no work on’t; the diffi¬ 
culty of finding is one part of the Game. 

325 Bev. I love these Women the more, for 
declaring against Fools, contrary to most of 
their Sex. 

Rains. I hate a woman that’s in love with 
a fulsom Coxcomb, she’s a foul feeder, and I 


320, 321. is overstock’d. D, is so overstock’d. 


Scene I] 


(£p0om Wells? 


125 


can no more have an appetite to her, when I 
think of her diet, than to a tame Duck, when 
I think it feeds on Toads. 

Bev. Well, I love Carolina beyond all sense 
of modesty, so much, that I am resolv’d if she 
will to turn recreant and marry her, let what 
will be the consequence. 

Rains. To forbear pleasing our selves to 
day, for fear of being troubled to morrow, were 
to adjourn life and never to live. 

Bev. I am sure of the present pleasure, and 
but venture the future pain. 

Rains. But I am resolved to venture, 
though the Gallies were the consequence. 

Bev. And I too. I will live 50 years in 
that one night I first enjoy her; and care not 
if I were to be a Slave all the rest of my life. 
Yonder I believe they are. 

Enter Carolina and Lucia. 

Caro. Ungrateful men! 

Luc. ’Tis not too late to retreat from this 
adventure. 

Bev. Ladies, your humble Servant: I see 
you are to be trusted. 

Caro. But you are not, you treacherous 
ungrateful men ! 


330 

335 

340 

345 

350 


126 


(Epsom WXtlU 


[Act IV 


355 Bev. How’s this, Madam ? 

Luc. Your infamous dealing with us ex¬ 
ceeds all barbarousness; Indians and Cannibals 
would have us’d us better. 

Rains. What mean they ? — do you think, 
360 Madam, we would eat you ? we have a pleas¬ 
anter way of using Ladies. 

Luc. Do you make our anger your mirth ? 

Caro. It may thank our selves to trust such 
perfidious men. 

36s Bev. You amaze us, you are just declaring 
War, when we thought to have concluded a 
Peace with you. 

Caro. Avoid our sight, thou vain man. 

Luc. And take thy lewd Companion with 
370 thee. 

Rains. Ladies you have so much wit that I 
cannot think you are in earnest. 

Bev. Our love is not so dull, that it needs 
to be spurr’d with anger. 

375 Rains. I hope this is only to make us relish 
your kindness the better. Anger is a Sawce 
to Love, as Sickness is to Health. 

Bev. For my part I love so violently, that 
every look of yours charms me, your anger 
380 pleases, I am in love with your frowns. 

363. It may thank. Q3, Q<, D, We may thank. 



Scene I] dEptfOUl 1 

Caro. It seems so, you wou’d not else so 
justly have provok’d ’em. 

Rains. ’Tis some honour, Madam, to be 
thought worth your anger. I cou’d never be 
angry with those I despis’d. 385 

Luc. But you shall find I can. Let’s leave 
’em Carolina. [Exit Lucia. 

Rains. Death, this is madness; I’le not 
leave you so. [Exit Rains. 

Caro. I write Letters, and make private 390 
appointments with you ? perfidious man! to 
blast my reputation thus — 

Bev. This is Mrs. Woodly s malice — 

[Aside. 

Pray hear me, Madam — 

Caro. No, Sir. Farewell. 395 

Enter Woodly as they are going out. 


Wood. There go Bevil and Carolina. 

[Ex. Bev. and Carolina. 
Now jealousie assist me, I may o’rehear some¬ 
thing, ’tis not so like a Gentleman, but ’tis like 
a wise and jealous Lover: I’le follow. 

[Exit Woodly. 


397. o'rehear, Qj, D, o’erhear. 


128 


CDpsom OTrlls 


[Act IV 


Enter Mrs. Woodly at the door on the right hand of 
the Stage. 

400 Mrs. Wood. I long to hear what my in¬ 
formation has wrought upon ’em. Mischief 
enough I hope. 

[Enter Bevil and Carolina at the door on the left 
handy at which Mrs. Woodly starts hack and 
conceals her self. 

Here are the two who I am most concern’d in; 
’tis dark, and I shall easily conceal my self. 
[Woodly enters a little after Bevil and Carolina, 
and stands close. 

405 Caro. Why do you follow me thus far ? 
begone, inhumane Creature! 

Mrs. Wood. Oh it works finely. 

Bev. Hear me but one word : if you con¬ 
demn me then, I will owne my self the Rascal 
410 you speak of. 

Caro. What can you say in defence of your 
treachery ? I write Notes to you ? 

Bev. I know who is my Accuser, and the 
reason of my Accusation. 

415 Caro. Who is your Accuser besides your 
self — 

Bev. I have had the misfortune to be pur¬ 
su’d by the love and jealousie of a Woman, 



Scene i] (Bptfont Well# 129 

cholerick, haughty, and revengeful, Mrs. 
Woodly , I am sure she is my Accuser. 420 

Mrs. Wood. Heaven! what says the Vil¬ 
lain ? I will tear him in pieces. 

Wood. Death, Hell, and the Devil! the 
love of my Wife. But I will hear further. 

Caro. Is this possible ? 425 

Bev. ’Tis true, I assure you; she wrote that 
Letter as from you to me, and met me in the 
Field; I was amaz’d at the Letter, and re¬ 
solv’d to see the event on’t: but I found her 
instead of you. 430 

Wood. Damnation on this Woman. 

Mrs. Wood. I cou’d stab the Traytor : but 
I’le yet have patience. 

Bev. Her Husband came by in the mean 
time, and as I believe took her for you, said he 435 
knew her, and seem’d to be much concern’d; 
and she swounded. 

Caro. Now the Riddle’s clear’d. 

Wood. I will yet hear farther. 

Caro. But how came you to part with the 440 
Note which I have now ? I see you are not to 
be trusted with a Ticket. 

Bev. I am glad you have it, Madam, I 
unluckily dropt it, I know not how; and have 

437. swounded. D, swooned. 


130 


CEpsom Mfllsf 


[Act IV 


445 been afraid of the effects a strangers finding it 
might have produc’d. With all my diligence I 
cou’d not find it; but how came you by it ? 

Caro. You have told a plausible Story, and 
I will let you know, but I conjure you to take 
450 no notice of it. 

Bev. You shall command me, Madam — 

Caro. Know then I have been perpetually 
importun’d since I came to Epsom , by the love 
of Mr. Woodly , and I suppose he having the 
455 same jealousie of me, that his virtuous Lady 
has of you, though there’s no danger, gave me 
this Note, with an excellent character of 
Mr. Rains and you — 

[Woodly and his Wife both start , as surprised 

at the News. 

Wood. Hell and Devils ! now all’s out. 

Both appear , and speak together. 
460 Mrs. Wood. Where’s the Traytor that has 
abus’d me thus ? 

Wood. Madam Carolina , I thank you, 
k you have oblig’d me much. 

Mrs. Wood. My Husband ! I am undone. 
46s Wood. ’Sdeath, is she here? 

Caro. Heaven ! what will this come to ? 

Bev. Unlucky accident! 

Mrs. Wood. Oh let me stab this perjur’d man ! 



Scene I] 


(Epsom TOells 


131 


Caro. Hold, Madam. 

Wood. Sir, I must have a farther account 470 
of you. 

Bev. Let it suffice to tell you, my anger 
against your Wife for contriving this mis¬ 
chief against me, made me say more than was 
true : She’s innocent of any Intrigue with me, 47s 
only the Letter she did write, what made her 
I know not. 

Wood. But, Sir — 

Bev. But, Sir, I must demand an account 
of you, concerning the Letter and the fair 480 
Character you gave me; ’twas not so like a 
Gentleman. 

Wood. ’Sdeath, not like a Gentleman. 

[Lays his hand on his Sword. 

Caro. Hold, Gentlemen. 

Wood. Oh, Madam, I thank you for your 48s 
favours. 

Caro. If I have any power with you, follow 
me, or I shall distrust all you have said. 

Mrs. Wood. Oh base inhumane Villain! 
so falsly to asperse my Honour. 490 

Bev. Madam, I must obey you. Monsieur 
ne mettez vous pas en peine , je trouverai Vocca¬ 
sion de vous voir demain au Matin. 

Wood. Et Bien, Monsieur , si faites. 


132 


Cptfom Wells 


[Act IV 


495 Caro. None of your French to shew your 
breeding; come along. [Ex. Car. and Bevil. 

Mrs. Wood. I am basely abus’d by a for¬ 
sworn Wretch. If you have honour in you, 
bear it not. Heaven knows, I know nothing 
500 of the Letter, nor have I seen him this day 
before. 

Wood. No! what could provoke him to so 
injurious an accusation. 

Mrs. Wood. Do you wonder at the malice 
505 of base lascivious men, that cannot have their 
ends ? I was loth to make a quarrel between 
you, not knowing how fatal it might be : but I 
have never rested from the importunity of 
his love — 

510 Wood. I know how to deal with him; but 
for you Madam — 

Mrs. Wood. For me! Heaven knows I am 
innocent and virtuous; but ’tis too apparent 
thou art false; Carolina speaks truth cer- 
515 tainly : besides I have heard this day that you 
are pleased to keep a Wench too, nay one that 
was a Bawd, and you pervert the use of her, 
and turn her into a Whore; and honest Gentle¬ 
men complain on’t; I’le not endure it. 

502. could [from E: orig. can]. Q2, Q3, Q4, can. D, could. 

518, 519. and honest Gentlemen complain [from E: orig. an honest 
Gentleman complain’d]. Q3, uncorrected. 


Scene I] 


<£p$om Wells 


i 33 


Wood. ’Tis well invented: but methinks, 
Madam, you shou’d have too much to do to 
clear your self, to think of accusing me. 

Mrs. Wood. If thou hadst courage in thee, 
thou wouldst revenge me of this false Rascal. 
But why should I expect such honour from 
you ? you are one of those keeping Coxcombs ; 
that rather than not keep will keep a Bawd : 
Nay, your Mistress, forsooth, has turn’d from 
Bawd to Punk, from Punk to Bawd, as often 
as they say Thames Water will stink and grow 
sweet again at Sea. 

Wood. ’Sdeath, none of your foolery, clear 
your self, or I’le make you an example. 

[Ex. Woodly. 

Mrs. Wood. Now all the power of revengeful 
rage assist me: here’s company I’le away. 

[Exit Mrs. Woodly. 

Enter Rains, Lucia, and Roger, as Mrs. Woodly is going out. 

Rains. There can be nothing plainer than 
that the jealousie and malice of Mrs. Woodly 
contriv’d this. Can you believe we can be 
such Rascals without provocation ? 

Luc. ’Tis probable Woodly has done this 
for Love and Jealousie of Carolina , and his 
Wife for Love and Jealousie of Bevil. [Aside. 


520 

525 

530 

535 

540 


134 


d£ps?ont Melte 


[Act IV 


But if you were not monstrously lewd, the 
freedom of Epsom allows almost nothing to 
545 be scandalous. 

Rains. Do you know, Madam, there is no 
such thing as scandal in this Age ? Infamy is 
now almost as hard to get as preferment. 

Enter Clod pate 

Clodp. Who’s here, Mr. Rains? Udsbud 
550 1 am almost fox’t, we have dusted it away, 
Gudsooks ; but there were two Country-fellows 
there that I never saw before, won above 
forty pound of me at Put, but they are honest 
Country-fellows; one of ’em is a chief Con- 
555 stable, a very honest Fellow. 

But where’s Madam Carolina? I have been 
at her Lodging. 

Luc. Oh Mr. Clodpate! I am glad I have 
found you, I sent all up and down the Town 
560 for you. 

Clodp. Udsbud, Madam, what’s the matter, 
is my Mistress not well ? 

Luc. Her Brother is come this Evening to 
Town, with a resolution to force her to London , 
565to marry one, he has provided for her: the 
poor Lady is almost distracted, and bid me 

550. fox't D, fox’d. 


Scene I] 


Cptforn OTeite 


x 35 


tell you, if you’ll relieve her from this distress, 
she’ll be for ever yours. 

Clodp. Udsooks, does he take her vi y armis , 
I’le send my Warrant for him, and stop his 570 
Journey. 

Luc. No, she has design’d a better way; 
her Brother has carried her in his Coach to see 
a Kinswoman that lodges near the Church, 
and intends to sup there, and not to come 575 
home till eleven of the Clock. 

Clodp. Good. 

Luc. If you’ll go and stay for her in the 
Church-yard, and have your man with Horses 
just by, she’ll steal away and come to you, and 580 
go where e’re you’ll dispose of her; she’d 
rather dye than live in London. 

Clodp. As Gad judge me, she’s a fine per¬ 
son ; but why the Church-yard ? that’s a place 
to meet in when we are dead, not while we 585 
are living; there are Sprights and dead Folks 
walk : I tremble to think on’t. 

Rains. This Fellow has not yet out-grown 
the belief of Raw-head and Bloody-bones. 

Luc. There is now no remedy; if you 590 
omit this opportunity, you will for ever lose her. 

Clodp. Nay, rather than that I’le venture; 
but I’le take my Practice of Piety in my Pocket. 


136 C£p0om OTeii0 [act iv 

Luc. Do so, and then let ’em walk their 
595 hearts out. 

Clodp. Well, Gad save you, I’le marry her 
to night. [Exit Clodpate,. 

Luc. If I had not sent him away, we had 
been pester’d with him all night. 

600 Rains. Since you have gone thus far with 
him, I’le have my share in the sport. 

Luc. If he should see Bevil and Carolina , 
’twould spoil all. 

Enter Foot-boy. 

Foot-boy. Madam, my Lady sent me to 
605 tell you, that she is gone home with Mr. Bevil y 
and desires your Company. 

Luc. I’le follow her. [Exit Boy. 

Rains. Roger , you heard what pass’d, pray 
go you with my Valet de Chambre, and take 
610 each of you a Sheet, and wait in the Church- 
porch till Clodpate comes into the Church-yard, 
and then sally out upon him, and fright him 
to purpose. 

Rog. I will, Sir, and am glad of the imploy- 
615 ment: let us alone for mischief. 

Rains. He believes in Spirits and dead 
Folks walking, as stedfastly as in his Creed. 

Luc. This may make excellent Sport. 


Scene I] 


Cptfom Well* 


i37 


Rog. Fie about it instantly; if we do not 
fright him out of that little wit his Justiceship 620 
has, I am mistaken. [Exeunt. 

Enter Fribble, Mrs. Frib. and Bisket. 

Frib. Where’s Mr. Kick and Cuff, Doll? 
We left ’em here but even now when we went 
to drink with our Neighbours. 

Mrs. Frib. They were sent for upon extra-625 
ordinary business, they paid the Reckoning. 

Bisk. I vow they are very civil fair con¬ 
dition’d Gentlemen as one would wish to drink 
or bowl with; but I vow there were some 
Bullies there swore so bloodily, I was afraid 630 
the Bowling-green would have fallen upon our 
heads ; but where’s my Lamb ? 

Mrs. Frib. She’s stept to a Neighbour in 
the Bowling-green, she’ll come instantly. 

Frib. Come, Neighbour Bisket, will you go ? 63s 
our friends expect us to be merry with them; 

I could be so brisk to night, fa, la, la, &c. 

Brisk. Ay, and I too, fa, la, la; we’ll sing 
old Rose, faith, hey, Boys. 

Mrs. Frib. Why, have you the confidence 640 
to offer to leave me when the Gentlemen are 
gone, and you in this condition ? 

Frib, How, what say you ? 


138 


(Dptfom Melte 


[Act IV 


Mrs. Frib. I have been too tame; ’tis time 
64s now to pluck up a spirit, you scurvy Fellow. 

Frib. As Gad judge me, the Jade’s drunk. 

Mrs. Frib. ’Tis you are drunk, Beast, every 
night; you are sipping off your half-pints all 
day long, and one has no more comfort of you 
650 at night than of a Bed-staff, nay not so much. 

Frib. Oh monstrous impudence! the Wo¬ 
man’s possess’d, as I hope to breathe. 

Bisk. Pish, this is nothing; my Duck says 
more to me than this every day; they will have 
655 these humours with ’em, mine has abundance, 
pretty Rogue, ha, ha. 

Frib. But if you be a fool, Neighbour, I’le 
be none, I’le not endure it. — Know your Lord 
and Master. 

660 Mrs. Frib. I am my own Mistress. Did I 
marry a foolish Haberdasher to be govern’d by 
him ? out upon thee, Nickcompoop, lie order 
thee, i’faith. 

Bisk. Just, my Duck, to a hair, ha, ha, 
665 ha. 

Frib. Oh unheard of impudence ! 

Mrs. Frib. All my Neighbours cry out on 
me, for suffering you in your impudence. 
Shall I endure a Fellow to be drunk and loose, 
670 and spend that abroad that he should spend 



Scene I] 


(Epsom Wells 


i39 


with me at home ? You villanous man, Fie not 
endure it. 

Bisk. Just, my Mollie , for all the world, 
ha, ha, ha. 

Frib. Nay then, ’tis time to be in earnest. 675 
Huswife, know your Lord and Master, I say 
know your Lord and Master. 

Mrs. Frib. My Lord and Master, I scorn 
thee, thou insolent Fellow, know your Lady 
and Mistress, Sirrah, Fie order you better, 680 
you scurvy Fellow. 

Frib. Oh horrible! she’s distracted. Hus¬ 
wife, get you home and sleep, and be sober, or 
Fie send you home with a Flea in your Ear. 

Mrs. Frib. Get you home, you pitiful 685 
Fellow, or Fie send you home with a Flea in 
your Ear, and you go to that, thou fumbling 
Fool. 

Frib. This is prodigious. Do you know, 
Huswife, that I will give you much correction ? 690 

Dor. You give me correction, you Coward ? 

Frib. The Law allows me to give my Wife 
due correction. I know the Law, Huswife, con¬ 
sider and tremble. 

Dor. You give me correction, you Wittal ? 695 
Fie teach you Law. 

[She gives him a dash on the Chaps. 


140 


Cpsorn OTells 


[Act IV 


Frib. Oh Impudence! nay then have at 
you. If you be mad, Pie cure you without the 
help of Bedlam. [Beats her. 

700 Dor. Help, help, murder, murder ! 

Bisk. Nay hold, Neighbour, for Heaven 
sake. 

Frib. Stand by, let me alone, or I will 
mischief you. Would you be so wicked as to 
705 part man and wife, a curse will follow you, if 
you do. 

Bisk. Nay then, whom Heav’n has joyn’d 
I will not put asunder. 

Frib. Come, Huswife, ask me pardon, or I 
710 will swinge you immoderately. 

[Frib. strikes her again. 

Dor. Hold, I do ask you pardon. 

[She kneels. 

Frib. Will you never be so insolent agen ? 

Dor. No, I will never pluck up a spirit agen. 

Frib. Go, get you home. 

715 Dor. Yes I will; but if I do not make your 
head ake for’t before to morrow morning. 

[Aside. [Exit Doro. 

Frib. Castigo te, non quod odio habeam , sed 


701. Heaven. D, Heaven’s. 

705. wife, D, wife? 

712, 713. agen. D, again [el al.]. 


Scene i] (Bpsom OTelte 141 

quod amem , is an excellent Sentence I learnt 
in my Grammar. 

Bisk. This is incomparable. Oh that I 
could govern my Wife thus! if I thought I 
could, I would swinge my Duck extremely, 
I’de beat my Lamb inordinately. 

Frib. I warrant you, try. This is the only 
way to govern her; let her feel, if she can’t 
understand, that you are her head. 

Bisk. I vow and swear I have a good mind, 
really, though she is a pretty Rogue. She 
does lead me such a life sometimes, I protest 
and vow, flesh and blood is not able to bear it. 

Frib. I tell you, Neighbour, ’tis a dishon¬ 
ourable thing to bear an affront from a Woman, 
specially your own Wife. 

Bisk. Uds me, here she is; I tremble. 

Frib. Bear up, for shame. 

Enter Mrs. Bisk. 

Mrs. Bisk. Where have you been, you Fop 
Doodle ? 

Bisk. What’s that to you, Jilt-Flirts ? 

Mrs. Bisk. What says the Fellow ? 

Bisk. I say know your Lord and Master. 


720 

725 

730 

735 

740 


718 . amem [from E; orig. amen]. 


142 


(£p$om Wells? 


[Act IV 


Mrs. Bisk. Oh Heaven ! the Boar’s drunk, 
and has lost his senses. 

Bisk. No, the Sow is drunk, and has lost 
her manners. 

745 Mrs. Bisk. Oh horrid insolence! you Vil¬ 
lain, Tie order you, I can hear you have lost all 
your money at Bowls. Get you home, Sirrah, 
you drunken Beast, you shall have money agen, 
you shall. 

750 Bisk. Peace, you impertinent unseasonable 
Ass, or I shall grow passionate. 

Mrs. Bisk. You scurvy Fellow, I’le tear 
your eyes out. I am amaz’d. What can this 
insolence mean ? 

755 Bisk. Stand by me, Neighbour. — I have 
too long endur’d your impudence. I will give 
you a great deal of Correction : I am your 
head, Huswife. 

Mrs. Bisk. You my head, you Cuckold; 

760 nay then ’tis time to begin with you. Pie head 
you before I have done. 

[She gives him a douce on the Chaps. 

Frih. Now it begins. 

Bisk. Nay then have at you. 

[He strikes her. 

Mrs. Bisk. Strike your own Wife! Pie 

765 tear your Throat out. 


Scene I] 


(Epsom OTelte 


H 3 


[She takes away the stick and heats him , he 
tumbles down. 

Bisk. Help, murder, murder! Neighbour, 
help, help, help. 

Mrs. Bisk. Fie make an Example on you. 
Hah, would you govern your own Wife ? 
Lord and Master, Quoth a! 770 

Bisk. Oh my Throat, Oh my Eyes ! 

Frib. Come off for shame ; you’r an insolent 
Woman, and were you my Wife, I would take 
off your Woman-hood. 

[Bisket gets up and runs away as hard as he can 
drive. 

Mrs. Bisk. Oh you. are one of the Rascals 775 
that put him upon this ! Fie try a pluck with 
you, Fie tear your Eyes out, you Villain, you 
Cuckoldly Villain. [She beats Fribble. 

Frib. Hold, hold — Oh Cowardly Rogue ! 
Has he left me in the Lurch ? 780 

Mrs. Bisk. Fie order all such Rascals, 

Frib. Hold, hold, this is a she-Devil. 

[Fribble runs from her , and Exit. 
Mrs. Bisk. So, are you routed ? now the 
field’s my own; but Fie order my Cuckold. 
Attempt to conquer his own Wife — 7 8 5 

I to my Husband scorn to be a Slave , 

I ne’re can fear the beast whose horns I gave. 

768. on you. D, of you. 


144 


[Act V 


C-psom Wells 

ACT V. SCENE I. 

Enter Kick and Cuff. 

Kick. This has been a lucky day; but this 
last business you drew me into, frighted me 
devilishly. 

Cuff. We that are to live by vertuous in- 
5 dustry, ought to stand out at nothing. 

Kick. But no more of this, if you please; 
yet ’twas well design’d to rob Clodpate; a false 
Rogue to have threescore pounds in his Pocket, 
and leave us off at Put. He rob’d us of that 
io first, and we took it by way of Reprisal. 

Cuff. His Man is gagg’d and bound, far 
enough from helping him. 

Kick. And away the Horses are gone for 
London. The Rogue will neither go nor send 
15 to London for a discovery, he hates it so; but 
what a Pox made the Sot in the Church-yard ? 

Cuff. Nay, I know not, unless he waited 
to kill some body, and then give him Christian 
Burial. I am sure it furnished me with a good 
20 invention. 

Kick. If thou hadst not been a thorough- 
pac’d Rogue, thou could’st never have been so 
present to thyself. If we had only bound him, 
some body might have pass’d by, by accident, 


Scene I] 


(£p0om Wei 1$ 


i 45 


and unloos’d him; but to tie his hands behind 
him, and take a sheet off the next Hedge, and 
tie him up in it like a Ghost, and gag him, was 
a Master-piece of Roguery. 

Cuff. This way will not only secure us from 
present pursuit, for no body durst come near 
him to unbind his hands : But it will make 
excellent sport, he’ll fright all the Town out 
of their wits. 

Enter Rains and Roger. 

Kick. There’s Rains , let us retire for fear 
of broken heads. [ Exeunt Kick and Cuff. 

Rains. How now, what news of Clodpate? 

Roger. Oh, Sir, we had like to have been 
frighted out of our wits our selves. 

Rains. How so ? 

Roger. When we expected to have frighted 
Mr. Clodpate , we saw another in a sheet, at 
which at first we cryed out for fear, which he 
(to our comfort) hearing, roar’d like a Bull at 
a Country Bear-bating, and run from us with 
all the speed he could. 

Rains. ’Tis strange ! who should it be ? 

Roger. We know not, Sir; but the amaze- 


25 

30 

35 

40 

45 


44 . Bear-bating. D, Bear-baiting. 


146 




[Act V 


ment made us soon pull off our Ghostly Habits, 
and come home. 


Enter Woodly. 

50 Rains. Who’s here ? 

Wood. Mr. Rains, I am glad I have found 
you. 

Rains. Oh, Sir, is it you ? we are to thank 
you for the favour you did us in giving those 
55 excellent Characters of us to our Mistresses. 

Wood. Your Mistresses ? you are men of 
dispatch, you take Women as fast as the 
French Towns ; none of’em endure a Siege, but 
yield upon the first Summons to you. 

60 Rains. You are in the wrong, such as we 
can buy, or corrupt the Governours of, may be 
easily had; but there are your Nimmegen 
Ladies that will hold out, and pelt damnably. 
But, Sir, I must be a little more serious with 
65 you. Do you think you have us’d a couple of 
honest Fellows as you ought ? 

Wood. Why, I could do no less for the 
honour of my Kinswoman, or the securing my 
own love to Carolina , which was desperate; 
70 and let me tell you, it is a silly Honour that will 
hinder a man the satisfying of his love, and is 


62 . Nimmegen. D, Nimmegnen. 


Scene I] OTclltf 147 

never to be found but in foolish Rhiming Plays 
and Romances. 

Rains. I could however be no rub in your 
way, since all my pretences are to your Cousin 75 
Lucia , and I’le assure you as honourable — 

Wood. That’s as she pleases ; for you have 
no more honour in love than needs must. 
There’s no trusting young Ladies now a-days 
to the Invasion of Audacious men. 80 

Rains. But they may to the men of easie 
Phlegm. 

Wood. You are no man of easie Phlegm; 
but this is not my business. I suppose you 
have heard of the Bustle at Mawse’s Garden to 85 
night. 

Rains. I have. 

Wood. I have no more to say, but that 
you would tell Bevil I desire to see him with 
his Sword in his hand. 90 

Rains. Sure you are too well grounded in 
the belief of your Wifes vertue, to entertain 
a slight suspicion of her. 

Wood. I am sure they ne’re shall know that 
I suspect her. [Aside. 95 

Sir, since I do not question her honour, do not 
you make bold with it, ’tis for his false accusa¬ 
tion that I require satisfaction. 


148 


C-psom OTclls 


[Act V 


Rains. The same love that provok’d you 
100 to accuse him falsly, made him do the same 
to your Wife; he loves Carolina almost to 
madness. 

Wood. The Honour of my Wife is too nice 
a thing to be us’d at that rate, especially by 
105 one that rivall’d me in my mistress. Without 
further dispute I will fight with him; if he 
refuses to meet me, I shall think he dares 
not. 

Rains. That you shall not think; since you 
no are so brisk, provide one to entertain me, I 
am his Friend. 

Wood. Such a one you shall not want 
instantly. 

Rains. We cannot possibly meet to night, 
115 at 5 in the morning we’ll meet you at Box Hill. 

Wood. I will expect you there, adieu. 

[Ex. Woodly. 

Rains. Goodnight. 

Enter Fribble, Bisket drunk , with Fidlers. 

Bisk. Come on Fiddles, play us a Serenade; 
a Serenade’s a fine merry Tune; we’ll be as 
120 merry as the veryest Roysters of ’em all, and 

115. at 5. Q3, D, at five. 

118. Fiddles. Qq, D, Fiddlers. 


Scene I] CptfOtU Mell 0 1 49 

as drunk too, an we set upon’t, Neighbour 
Fribble. 

Frib. I warrant you; come, we are choice 
Lads; come play a Serenade at this Window, 
fa, la, la, la. 

Bisk sings. Fa, la. Hold, can’t you sing 
Hey for Cavaliers, ho for Cavaliers , Dub , a dub, 
dub , have at old Belzebub , Oliver stinks for 
fear. 

Fid. No an’t please you, Sir. 

Frib. Ah brave Neighbour Biskety you are 
a merry man i’fack. 

Bisk. I, am I not ? I defie any man in 
Epsom to be merrier, i’fags. Come let’s all be 
Musitioners, and all roar and sing, 

Here f s a Health unto his Majesty , 

With a Faly la 9 la , la , la lero. 

Frib. Come on, hey Boys, strike up — 

Bisk. Now have I as much courage as any 
man upon the face of the Earth, if my Sweet¬ 
ing were here I’d beat her extreamly, I’d Chas¬ 
tise my Pigsnye immoderately: I love her, 
poor Bird, but she’s too unruly. 


125 

130 

135 

140 


121. an. Qt, D, when. 

126-127. sing Hey . . . D, sing? Hey. 


i5o 


[Act V 


€pom OTelte 

An old senseless Song. 1 

If she prove constant , obliging , and kind , 

145 Perhaps Vie vouchsafe for to love her , 

But if pride or inconstancy in her I find , 

Pde have her to know I’m above her. 

Frib. Bravely resolv’d. But for all that 
you left me engag’d basely and scurvily. 

Enter Mrs. Bisket and Mrs. Fribble. 

150 Mrs. Frib. Mr. Rains shou’d be here by the 
Fiddles. O lamentable, our Husbands are 
drunk and roaring and serenading. 

Mrs. Bisk. Oh my fingers itch at ’em, I’le 
order my Rogue. 

155 Bisk. ’Slife here they are; now does my 
heart fail me : Fidlers do you keep back ; they 
shall be the Reserve, you shall lead the Van, and 
I’ll bring up the Rear: There’s discipline for 
you. 

160 Frib. We are fallen into an Ambush, bear 
thy self bravely. 

Mrs. Bisk. Where’s my drunken beast ? 
do you sneak behind ? I’ll make you an ex¬ 
ample. 


1 An .. . song. Title omitted in D. 
150. here by. D, here, by. 


Scene i] CEpsorn Wells 151 

Bisk, sings. 

But if pride or inconstancy in her I find , 165 

Vde have her to know I am above her. 

Mrs. Bisk. Above me! a pitiful Comfit- 
maker above me! I’le have better men above 
me. Sirrah, I’le spoil your singing. 

Enter Kick and Cuff, with Fiddles. 

Kick. They are our Bubbles drunk, but not 170 
drunk enough, and their Wives with them too. 
Now for some stratagem to part ’em — 

Cuff. Ladies, a word of consultation. 

Mrs. Bisk. Your Servant, Sir. 

Bisk. Oh Gentlemen, your Servant; now 175 
we’ll be merry as Princes i’faith : who cares for 
you now ? Come strike up Fiddles. 

Frib. Ay come, fa, la, la, let ’em alone, who 
cares ? 

Bisk. Ay come, let ’em alone, who cares ? 180 

Kick. Ladies, let me desire you to walk 
away, your Husbands are too drunk for your 
company; we’ll carry ’em to our Lodgings, 
and they shall sleep till they be sober. 

166. I am. Q2, Q4, D, I’m. 

169. me. Sirrah, D, me, Sirrah! 

177. Fiddles. Qq. D., Fiddlers. 


152 


dEpsom OTella 


[Act V 


185 Cuff. And we’ll come back and wait on 
you with our Fiddles. 

Mrs. Frib. Your Servant, sweet Sir, you 
are very obliging. 

Mrs. Bisk. We shall be proud to wait on 
190 you. Your humble Servant. [Ex. 

Frib. Are you gone ? Come, Gentlemen, 
let’s join our forces, and away serenading, fa, 
la, la, la. 

Kick. Come on toward our Lodging. 

19S Bisk. Strike up, fa, la, la, la. 

Enter people crying The Devil, The Devil; Clodpate with 

his hands bound behind him in a sheet, like a Ghost. 

Bisket and Fribble run with Fiddles, crying The Devil, 

The Ghost, etc. 

Kick. He’s here, the Rogue has made haste; 
now will our Ladies be afraid to lye alone to 
night. 

Cuff. We must e’en be content to supply 
200 their Husbands places. Come along. [Exeunt. 

Clodp. Oh, oh, oh, Udsooks there’s my Gag 
broke at length, thanks to the strength of my 
teeth; unmerciful Rogues, if it had been like 
Dappers Gag of Ginger-bread, it would have 
20s melted in my mouth; never man has been so 
unfortunate as I have been this night; I have 

192. serenading. Q3, D, a serenading. 


Scene I] 


om Wells? 


i53 


been frighted out of my Wits, I saw two 
Ghosts in the Church yard, I have almost 
sweat myself into a Consumption, my man’s 
gone, for ought I know murder’d; nay which 210 
is worse, my Dapple Mare’s lost, I am rob’d 
of Threescore Pounds, my hands ty’d behind 
me, every one takes me for a Ghost; oh, oh, oh. 

Enter a Countryman. 

Count . Oh the Devil, the Devil! [Exit. 

Clodp. Do you hear, I am no Devil, stay, 215 
stay. If I should run after him he’d run ten 
times faster. If I go home they’l shut the 
doors upon me, no body will come near me this 
night, nor for ought I know to morrow. 

[Enter Landlord and two more with him whistling. 

Landl. Oh here’s the Ghost, the Ghost. [Ex. 220 

Clodp. Stay, I am no Ghost, Landlord; 
Rogue stay, I will pursue that Rascal. 

[He runs out after him , and both run over the 
Stage again , and Exeunt. 

Enter Toby. 

Toby. How luckily was I reliev’d ! I had 
been sure for one night, if an honest Fellow 
had not come by, by Miracle; but he told me a 225 
dreadful story of a Spirit walking to night. 


154 


(Epsom Wells 


[Act V 


Enter Clod pate. 

Who’s this? my man Toby? 

Toby. Oh the Devil, the Devil! 

[He runs off the Stage , Clodp. follows him , and 
they enter again. 

Clodp. Why Toby , Rogue, Rascal, I am your 
230 Master Clodp ate. 

[As they run cross the Stage Clodp. overtakes 
Toby, and strikes up his heels. 

Justice Clodpate, Rogue, Rascal. 

Toby. Devil I defie thee, and all thy works : 
oh, oh, oh! 

Clodp. Lye still, or I will stamp thy guts 
235 out; hear me, hear me; why Rogue Toby , 
Rascal, I am thy Master. 

Toby. Ha, I think it is my Masters 
voice. 

Clodp. Oh I am rob’d and abus’d, rise and 
240 unbind my hands. 

Toby. Oh it is he, let me recover the fright. 
Oh ! how came you in this condition ? 

Clodp. Ask no questions, but unty my 
hands. 

245 Toby. Oh, Sir, your Dapple Mare’s gone. 
Clodp. Oh what shall I do ? oh miserable 
man! Oh poor Dapple — I love her so, I 

243. unty. Q3, untie. 


Scene I] dBptfOttt (MellS 1 55 

could go into mourning for her. I had as good 
almost have lost Carolina. 

Toby. Nay you had better, Sir; she was in 250 
the Plot against you to night, and abus’d you 
all this while with a story of the Church-yard. 

Clodp. Gudsooks, abuse me ? 

Toby. She has no Brother, hates the Coun¬ 
try, is an absolute vain London- Lady, and has 255 
made sport with you all this night. 

Clodp. Now I reflect upon’t, Udsbud, the 
Assignation in the Church-yard was very odd. 

Toby. Mrs. Woodly’s Maid has told me all; 
she has been laughing at you, and her design 260 
upon you, all this night. 

Clodp. Gudsooks, laugh at me, a Magis¬ 
trate ? I could find in my heart to bind her 
to her good behaviour. 

Enter Peg. 

Toby. Ha, who’s this, Mrs. Margaret? 265 
Look you, Sir, she’s come in time. I have 
told my Master what you told me. 

Peg. ’Tis true; but I shall be ruin’d, if he 
tells it again. 

252. this. Q4, D, the. 

259. has told. Qi. D, told. 

266-267. have told. Qi, D, told. 


156 


€p#o m 


[Act V 


270 Clodp. Fear not that; Godsbud, I tell! but 
if I be not reveng’d on her. Hold, it comes into 
my head; what is become of the pretty 
Country-Lady I saw to day ? 

Peg. At her Lodging, the same we lie in; 
27s but why do you ask, Sir ? 

Clodp. As Gad judge me, ’tis the finest 
Lady I ever saw. 

Peg. I could tell you, Sir, but I dare not. 

Clodp. What cou’dst thou tell me ? Upon 
280 the honour of a Country-Justice I’le be secret. 

Peg. Sir, she is extremely taken with your 
Worship. Alas! she’s a poor innocent Coun¬ 
try thing. 

Clodp. Nay, but is she, poor Rogue ? 

285 Peg. She loves your honest, true, English 
Country Gentlemen, and wonders what Ladies 
can see in foolish London Fellows, to charm ’em so. 

Clodp. And so do I, a Company of Spindle- 
shank Pocky Fellows, that will scarce hold 
290 together: I am of your true tuff English heart 
of Oak, Gudsooks. 

Peg. But, Sir, I am in haste; my Lady sent 
me of an Errant, and I must go. 

275- but. Qi, D, omitted. 

289. -shank. Q3, D, -shank’d. 

290. tuff. D, tough. 

293. Errant. Q», D, Errand. 


Scene I] 


Cpsom Wells? 


i57 


Clodp. Hold, Mrs. Margaret; if you can 
bring about my Marriage with this Lady, I will 295 
give you 50I. 

Peg. That I know not whether I can do or 
no; but, Sir, Tie endeavour to serve you with¬ 
out a reward, if you be in earnest. 

Clodp. I am, prepare a Visit for me pres-300 
ently. 

Peg. Tie do what I can do to serve you, 
but I must go, your Servant. [Exit. 

Clodp. If I do not give Carolina such a bob, 
she shall repent it all her life time. 305 

[Ex. Clodp. and Toby. 

Enter Rains, Bevil, Lucia, and Carolina. 

Caro. Good Brisk; Sir, you shall not meet 
with Woodly this night. 

Luc. And you, Sir, shall pass your word for 
your self and him. I know you’ll offer your 
help to commit a Gentlemanlike murder for 310 
his Honour. 

Rains. Faith, Ladies, there’s no way to 
secure us, but to take each of us and keep us in 
your several Chambers all night. 

Luc. No, Sir, we shall be in more danger 31s 
with that than you’ll be with fighting. 

306. Brisk; Sir, D, brisk Sir. 




d£p$om Melte 


[Act V 


Caro. We shall find a better way with a 
Constable and Watch, if you will not pass your 
words to go home peaceably to night. 

320 Bev. If I could think this care of me pro¬ 
ceeded from a value you have for me, I would 
renounce my Honour for my Love. 

Caro. Perhaps I have such a value for you, 
as in time might grow to a kind of Friendship. 

325 But that’s the farthest point I shall ever 
stretch it to. 

Bev. Friendship’s a dull, foolish, flegmatick 
affection, which you might a’had, being a 
Woman for the matter; but if it could ever 

330 grow to Love, I would renounce my dear 
Friends, the World, the Flesh, and the Devil 
for you. 

Rains. A Lady will be little pleas’d with one 
that should renounce the Flesh for her sake. 

33s Luc. Are not you angry in your heart to be 
kept from your belov’d Bottles ? 

Rains. The Devil take me, I love you so, 
that I could be content to abjure Wine for ever, 
and drink nothing but Almond-milk for your sake. 

340 Bev. We never meet like Country-Sots to 
drink only, but to enjoy one another, and then 
Wine steals upon us unawares, as late hours do 
sometimes upon your selves at Cards. 


Scene I] 


< tp&om Melte 


i59 


Rains. And it makes your dull Fools sit 
hickupping, sneezing, drivelling, and belching, 345 
with their eyes set in their heads, while it raises 
men of heat and vigour to mirth, and some¬ 
times to extravagance. 

Bev. And which is most scandalous, witty 
extravagance, or drivelling, snivelling, sneak- 350 
ing dulness ? 

Enter Peg with a Note. 

Peg. Is my Lady here, Ladies ? , tis past 
eleven, and she’s not come home yet. 

Luc. No, she’s not here. 

Peg. My Lady is at home, and bid me give 355 
you that Note. [Gives a Note to Rains. 

Not a word to Mr. Bevil , good night. I have 
taken order, the other Note shall be given to 
Mr. Bevil. [Aside. 

Caro. Gentlemen, we are not us’d to your 360 
late hours, we must retire; but if you will 
not promise to go home peaceably I will send 
for the Constable. 

Rains. Take my word, Madam, there shall 
be nothing done to night. 36s 

Luc. Gentlemen, your Servant. 

Rains. I hope the noise of Fiddles under 
your Window will not offend you. 


i6o 


(Epsom Wells 


[Act V 


Luc. In a Town where there are such vile 
370 noises all night long, we may suffer good 
Musick to come into the Consort. 

Caro. Adieu. 

Bev. Your Servant, dear, dear Madam. 

[Ex. Women. 

Enter Messenger with a Letter , and delivers it to Bevil. 

Bev. Is this for me ? 

375 Mess. It was left in the house for you. 

Rains. What’s this ? [Reads] I know you 
to be a gen’rous person , and that you will succour 
a distressed Lady , who stands in need of your 
Advice immediately. Sarah Woodly. 

380 Gad I believe she stands in need of something 
else than my Advice, she has a design on my 
Chastity; shall I go ? good Devil, don’t tempt 
me, I must be constant, I will be constant: 
nay, Gad I can be constant when I resolve on’t, 
385 and yet I am a Rogue. But I hope I shall 
have Grace, and yet I fear I shall not; but 
come what will, I must suffer this tryal of my 
Vertue. 

Bev. How now, Jack , an Assignation ? 

390 Rains. Peace, Ned, peace, go home, I’le 
be with you in half an hour. 

Bev. Farewel, Constancy. [Exit Rains. 


Scene I] 


d£p 0 om Mill* 


161 


I am glad he’s gone; Woodly has repented him 
of fighting in the morning, and wou’d dispatch 
the business to night, ’tis a Moon-light night, 39s 
and we shall do’t well enough. [Reads] Meet 
me in the Field behind my Lodging , and I will , 

Sir , since you are pleas’d to doubt whether I 
durst or no. [Exit. 

Enter Clod pate and Mrs. Jilt. 

Clodp. Udsooks, do you suspect me ? my 400 
word will go for ten thousand pounds in Sussex. 

Jilt. Alas! I am a poor innocent Country 
thing unexperienc’d in the World; do not go 
about to betray a harmless Maid as I am, God 
wot. 405 

Clodp. As I am an honest man, I am in 
earnest; here’s a Parson lies in the house, and 
I’le marry you immediately. 

Jilt. Alas! I am an inconsiderable person, 
and not worth your Love, though I have been 410 
offer’d the Love of Knights, nay Lords, upon 
my word; but they were scurvy London ones, 
and I swear I scorn ’em all. 

Clodp. As Gad judge me, you are in the 
right. 415 

Jilt. Oh I hate that Town, my Father 


397-399. and l will ,,, or no. D [roman type]. 


162 


<£p0om OTells 


[Act V 


forc’d me thither for Breeding, forsooth. 
Excellent Breeding is learnt there indeed, to 
wash, daub, paint, and be proud, and senseless; 
420 out on ’em for Jezabels. 

Clodp. Very fine, she’s an Angel, Gudsbud. 

Jilt. I had rather wait upon a Lady in the 
Country, than be that vain thing at London; 
upon my word now. 

425 Clodp. Leave all, and cleave to me, we’ll 
into Sussex far enough off that lewd Town. 

Jilt. Alas! I am a silly innocent poor 
creature, I cannot abide marriage, upon my 
word not I; yet I wou’d undergo any thing 
430 rather than live at London; I had rather milk 
Cows in the Country, than be a Maid of 
Honour there. 

Clodp. Maid of Honour! I’le make you a 
Wife of Honour, if you’ll go with me; that’s 
435 better. 

Jilt. Well, I vow I use to go sometimes for 
my pleasure to Milk a Cow; it is a very pleas¬ 
ant recreation to stroke the Cows Teats, I 
delighted in it extreamly. 

440 Clodp. Admirable — 

Jilt. Nay I have gone a Hay-making in a 
frollick, upon my word now; but my Father 
was stark mad with me, and forc’d me to 


Scene i] (Dp$om Wells 163 

London , to learn breeding, and to break me of 
those tricks as he call’d ’em. 445 

Clodp. Gudsooks, he was to blame. If 
you’ll be my Wife you shall milk and make 
Hay as much as you will. 

Jilt. Sir, you are in a manner a stranger to 
me, though Mrs. Margaret has told me your 450 
condition and quality; yet an innocent simple 
thing as I am must take advice of Friends. 

Clodp. Friends! Gad take me, I have 
2000 /. a year, take advice of that, ’twill be the 
best friend you can advise with. 455 

Enter Mrs. Woodly. 

Mrs. Wood. ’Tis strange this Husband of 
mine is not come home yet; but I hope Mr. 
Rains will not fail his appointment. 

Clodp. Here’s company; let us retire and 
discourse of this business. If I do not give 460 
Carolina such a bob as she never had in her 
life — [Ex. Clodpate and Jilt. 

Mrs. Wood. Mr. Rains seems to be a per¬ 
son of worth, and fitter to be trusted with an 
intrigue, than that Villain Bevil. 46 s 

Enter Rains. 

Rains. What a Rogue am I to run into temp¬ 
tation ; but Pox on’t, Lucia will ne’er miss 


164 




[Act V 


what I shall lose. Madam, your humble Serv¬ 
ant; I have obey’d your Summons. 

47 o Mrs. Wood. Sir, I hope you’ll pardon the 
confidence of a stranger, that blushes for’t, 
as I do. 

Rains. I must thank you for the honour. 
He ne’re stand out at serving such a Lady 
47s with my soul and body too; I’Gad as far as it 
will go — I am a Rogue, poor Lucia , forgive me. 

Mrs. Wood. Your Friend Bevil is the falsest 
of men, but I do not doubt your honour; you 
are fit to make a friend of, and advise a Lady in 
480 the dangerous actions of her life. 

Rains. It was an unlucky embroilment you 
were in this night. 

Mrs. Wood. It was, Sir; but I am the more 
easily appeas’d, since it has offer’d me an 
485 occasion of knowing, in some measure, so 
worthy a person as your self. 

Rains. Why there it is — I see what it 
must come to. [Aside. 

Enter Peg. 

Peg. Madam, Mr. Bevil is walking yonder, 
490 but my Master is coming in. 

Rains. ’Sdeath, Madam, I shall be dis¬ 
cover’d. 


Scene i] €p&om Witlla 165 

Mrs. Wood. Fear it not, go in. [Exit Rains. 
Peg , go down. 

Enter Woodly. 

Wood. So, Madam, does not your Ladiship 495 
blush, and tremble at my presence ? 

Mrs. Wood. You are an unworthy man to 
suspect my virtue; I am the most abus’d 
Woman upon the earth. 

Wood. Abus’d ! it is impossible. 500 

Mrs. Wood. I can clear my self; wou’d 
you cou’d do so, barbarous man! 

Wood. You clear your self! 

Mrs. Wood. That false Villain, Bevil , has 
again had the impudence to sollicite my virtue, 50s 
and after he had ask’d me a thousand pardons, 
he was so audacious to press me to a meeting, 
saying, he would defend me against all your 
rage, and that there was no way for me left, 
but to fling my self upon him for protection. 510 

Wood. ’Sdeath and Hell, and I’le reward 
him for’t. 

Mrs. Wood. Lord, how I tremble! do not 
quarrel, good Dear; though you are a naughty 
man, I cannot but love you yet, and wou’d sis 
not have told you this but to clear my hon¬ 
our; take two or three of your Servants, 


[Act V 


166 €p&om OTeite 

and beat him soundly; do not quarrel, good 
Dear. 

520 Wood. Tie warrant you, let me alone. 

[Ex. Woodly. 

Mrs. Wood. I know he has t[o]o much 
honour not to meet him singly; if he kills 
Bevil I am reveng’d, if Bevil kills him he rids 
me of the worst Husband for my humour in 
525 Christendom; but I’le to Mr. Rains , he’s a 
Gentleman indeed. [Ex. Mrs. Woodly. 

Enter Bevil in the field. 

Bev. Where is this Woodly ? ’Tis as fine a 
Moon-light night to run a man through the 
Lungs in, as one wou’d wish; ’Twas unlucky 
530 he shou’d over-hear me to night, but ’tis too 
late to retreat now. 

[Rains and Mrs. Woodly appear at the Win¬ 
dow above. 

Rains. ’Slife yonder’s Bevil; I must to 
him, for I gave my word to keep him from 
meeting your Husband to night. 

535 Mrs. Wood. You need not fear, my Hus¬ 
band’s gone another way. 

Rains. However, Madam, I must secure 
him in my Lodgings, and Fie wait on you 
again presently. 

521. t [0] 0. Qq, two. 


Scene I] 


€p&om 


167 


Mrs. Wood. But, Sir, I have an immediate 540 
occasion for your assistance and advice. 

Rains. Madam, I’le return immediately. 

Mrs. Wood. My affair is so pressing and 
urgent, it must be dispatch’d instantly. 

Rains. I’le not stay a moment from you. 545 

Mrs. Wood. Stay but one minute; they’ll 
not meet I tell you. 

Rains. Madam, I pass’d my honour, and 
dare not venture it. 

Mrs. Wood. Excellent honour, to leave a 550 
Lady that has such occasion for you as I have. 

Rains. I have as much occasion, Madam, 
for you; but those old Enemies Love and 
Honour will never agree. 

Mrs. Wood. Sir, you shall not stir, for a 555 
reason I have to my self. 

Rains. For a reason I have to my self, I 

must, Madam. r _ _ . . . „ . 

[Breaks from her and Exit. 

Mrs. Wood. Farewell you ill-bred, rude, 
unworthy Fellow : Heaven ! how unlucky this 560 
is ! I am ruin’d. [Ex. Mrs. Wood. 


Enter Woodly. 

Wood. All’s true she has said, he’s here. 
Bev. Oh, Sir, are you come ? I have waited 
sufficiently for you. 


(Epsom Wtells 


[Act V 


168 


565 Wood. Oh cunning! how ready he’s at a 
lye to excuse himself! Do you think to carry 
it off thus ? 

Bev. Carry what off? you see, Sir, I dare 
meet you. 

570 Wood. Rare impudence, meet me ! have at 
you, Sir. [Draws. 

[They fight , Woodly/a//j and is disarm'd. 

Bev. Your life — 

Wood. Take it — I deserve to lose it 
Since I defended it no better. 

575 Bev. No, Sir — live — and live my friend 
if you please ; and know your Lady’s innocent: 
I had not gone so far, but that you were pleased 
to make a question to Rains, whether I durst 
meet you or no. 

Enter Rains. 

580 Rains. How, Gentlemen, you have put a 
fine trick upon me, to engage me, and then 
leave me out at this business. 

Wood. He came hither to meet another, Sir, 
not me. 

S 8 5 Bev. Another, you are mad, Sir. 

Enter Lucia and Carolina in Night-Gowns. 

Luc. So, Gentlemen, you are men of hon¬ 
our, you keep your words well, but we would 
not trust you — we had you dogg’d — 


Scene I] 


(£p$om Weil0 


169 


Caro. This will redound much to our repu¬ 
tation, to have our names us’d in one of your 590 
quarrels. 

Rains. There’s a mistake, Madam, hear it 
out. 

Wood. Did not you come to meet a Lady 
of my Acquaintance ? 59S 

Bev. I receiv’d a Challenge from you, 
there ’tis — 

Wood. From me ? I sent none. Ha, this 
must be my darn’d Wife. ’Sdeath and Hell; 
but no more, I am resolv’d. Ladies and 600 
Gentlemen, do me the favour to go into my 
Lodgings with me, and you shall see I will 
behave my self like a man of Honour, and 
doubt not but to have all your approbations. 

Rains. What does he mean ? 60s 

Luc. Come, let’s in. [Exeunt. 

Enter Bisk, and Fribble in the Hall. 

Bisk. A deuce take Mr. Cuff and Mr. Kick 
for locking us up. I’le take him up roundly 
for’t to morrow: it’s well his Landlord took 
pity on us and releas’d us. 610 

Frib. Well, I am so loving in my drink, I’le 
go to bed to my Dear, and forgive her all. 

Bisk. I can hold out no longer, I’le go to 


€v$om OTelltf 


[Act V 


170 


bed and make peace with my Bird, there’s 
615 no such peace as that concluded between a 
pair of sheets. Prithee, Neighbour, go you 
first gently into her Chamber, and try to ap¬ 
pease her a little, to prepare my way. 

Frib. Well, I’le venture a Broken-head for 
620 you once. 

Bisk. Gently, gently. 

Frib. ’Sdeath, what do I see ? [Peeps in. 

Bisk. Be not afraid, man, what’s the 
matter ? 

625 Frib. Mr. Kick is in a very indecent posture 
upon the Bed with your Wife. 

Bisk, peeps in. ’Slife what do you say ? 
Oh, ’tis true, ’tis true, what shall I do ? If I 
should go in, he’d grow desperate at the dis- 
630 covery, and for ought I know kill me. 

Frib. You must get a Constable and appre¬ 
hend him; but for my Jade I’d maul her, if I 
should find her at it. 

Bisk. I will, I will, come along with me, 
63s Neighbour. 

Frib. Stay but a minute till I see how my 
poor Rogue does, and I’le go with you; I beat 
her damnably, and am very sorry for’t, i’fack. 

Bisk. Oh make haste, make haste! 

640 Frib. Oh Lord! Oh Lord! [Peeps. 


Scene I] 


Melte 


171 


Bisk. What’s the matter ? 

Frib. Oh Lord ! 

Bisk. What’s the matter ? come away. 

Frib. As Gad judge me, my Jade’s at the 
same recreation with Mr. Cuff. Oh look, look, 645 
Neighbour, that you may be my Witness as 
well as I am yours. [Bisk, peeps. 

Bisk. She has given you occasion to maul 
her, Neighbour. 

Frib. This I may thank you for; you must 650 
be bringing Fellows acquainted with your 
Wife, ye Sot. 

[Bisk.] And you must be laying wagers upon 
your Wifes head. Come, come, let’s fetch a 
Constable, the World shall know what lewd 655 
Creatures they are. [Exeunt. 

Enter Rains, Bevil, Lucia, and Carolina. 

Rains. Since Mr. Woodly is so busie within, 
setling his great affair with his Lady, let us 
mind our business. Ladies, our Loves to you 
two are so violent, they must end in Marriage. 660 

Luc. Your Love is violent indeed, it is a 
hot-spur French Love. 

Bev. I am sure I have lov’d out a year of 
ordinary Love in this one day. 

653. [Bisk.] Qi, Q3, Frib. 


17 2 




[Act V 


665 Caro. Marriage ! that were time to talk of 
when we have known you seven years. 

Rains. ’Sdeath, would you have a man 
have the patience of a Patriarch ? 

Luc. Methinks ’twere enough to arrive at 
670 Platonick Love at first. 

Bev. The pretence to that is more out of 
fashion in this active Age, than RufFs and 
Trunk-breeches are. 

Caro. If we hear one word of Marriage 
675 more, we’ll discard you. We may perhaps 
admit of a little harmless Gallantry. 

Luc. This is no Age for Marriage; but if 
you’ll keep your distance, we will admit you 
for a Couple of Servants as far as a Country 
680 Dance, or Ombre, or so. 

Enter Clodpate. 

Clodp. So, Ladies, I thank you for the 
Tricks you have put upon me; but, Madam, I 
am even with you for your London Tricks, I 
have given you such a bob. 

685 Caro. Me ? 

Clodp. You have lost me, Madam, you 
have. I have married a pretty innocent 
Country-Lady worth fifty of you. Come in 
my Dear. Here’s the Parson too that dis- 


Scene I] 


CDpsoni MellS 


173 


patch’d the business for us. I think I have 
met with you now. 

Enter Jilt with a Parson. 

Rains. Mrs. Jilt. 

Bev. Old Acquaintance. 

Clodp. How’s this! 

Jilt. I have got a Husband at last, though 
much ado, I’le swear. 

Enter Peg. 

Peg. Sister, I wish you Joy. Now I hope 
I may be own’d by you. 

Clodp. Is she her Sister ? Curs’d Instru¬ 
ment of Hell, I am cheated, abus’d. 

Bev. Is this your Country-Lady ? she has 
liv’d in London all her life. 

Clodp. Udsbud, is this true ? 

Jilt. I was never so far out of London , nor 
ever will be agen, I’le swear. 

Clodp. Nay, now I am sure she has liv’d in 
London , she could not have been so impudent 
else. 

Caro. I wish you happy in her, Sir, though 
it was not my good Fortune to be made so by 
you; but let’s in, and hear Woodly s resolution. 

[Ex. Rains, Bevil, Lucia, and Carolina. 

704, 705. nor ever. Q4, D, nor never. 


690 

695 

700 

705 

710 


174 


€p$om OTelte 


[Act V 


Jilt. Did you think I would be mop’d up 
in a house in Sussex? Sister, take a place in 
715 the Coach, and go to morrow to London , get 
my Brother to bespeak me a fine Coach and 
Horses, and to hire me a House in Lincolns-Inn- 
fields. I shall find Credit for Furniture; but 
now I think on’t, my Dear, you shall go with 
720 me. You are so strangely Rustical, I swear, 
you must be better bred, if you think to please 
me; upon my word you must. 

Clodp. Gudsooks, Gudsbud, I’le go hang 
my self. 

72s Jilt. A person of your Quality keep Com¬ 
pany with Boars and Rascals, it’s a shame. 
I’le ha’ you to London, and bring you ac¬ 
quainted with Wits and Courtiers, upon my 
word, and you shall learn such Breeding of 
730 ’em. I am belov’d and courted at a high rate 
by ’em all, I’le swear. 

Clodp. Oh miserable man! I have not 
only married a Londoner, and consequently a 
Strumpet, and consequently one that is not 
735 sound, but the most audacious of her Sex, a 
Mall- Cutpurse, a Doll Common. 

Jilt. My Dear, you are strangely unkind 


726. Boars. D, Boors. 

733 , 734 - and consequently a Strumpet. Q4, D, omitted. 


Scene I] 


€p&om OTelte 


i75 


upon your Wedding night. We’ll to London 
together to morrow, you’ll find great respect 
there for my sake. I have had so many Lov-740 
ers I have been cruel to, that I’le swear you’ll 
be the most envy’d man in the whole World, 
upon my word you will. 

Clodp. I am distracted, I know not what to 
do or say. 745 

Jilt . Why are you troubled, my Dear ? 
you shall find I have interest at Court, and can 
keep you from being Sheriff; nay, I believe I 
could get you Knighted. 

Clodp. Knighted with a Pox; would you 750 
had interest enough with the Parson, and 
wou’d get me unmarry’d, I wou’d willingly 
give a Leg or an Arm. 

Jilt. Unmarried; nay, Sir, an’ you despise 
me, I scorn such a pitiful Fellow as you are; 755 
matters are not gone so far, but upon good 
terms I can release you. 

Clodp. How, Gudsbud, what say you ? 

Peg. Leave it to me, give me a handsom 
reward, and her some consideration for the loss 760 
she shall have in such a Husband, and I’le 
do’t. 

Clodp. I will, any thing that you can in 
reason demand. 


176 


Ctpsom Wells 


[Act V 


765 Jilt. We’ll in, and consult about the business. 

[Ex. Jilt, and Peg, and Parson. 

Clodp. ’Sbud I’de give half my Estate to 
be rid on her. 

Enter Bisket and Fribble, with a Constable and Watch , 

bringing in Mrs. Fribble, Mrs. Bisket, Kick, and Cuff. 

Bisk. Sir, an please your Worship, I have 
brought a Malefactor before you here, that in 
770 most unseemly manner did make an assault 
upon the body of my Wife. 

Frib. And I another, that committed the 
same insolence upon mine. 

Clodp. Ha, Rogues! I’le vent some of 
775 my anger upon them: Hah, you were the 
Rogues in Country Habits, to day, that won 
my money at Putt: Fie make you Examples, 
cheating Villains; you, for ought I know, 
rob’d me, bound me, and stole my Dapple 
780 Mare. 

Kick. Shameless Rascals, to publish thus 
your own disgraces. [To Bisk, and Frib. 

Cuff. Rogues ! we shall meet with you. 

Clodp. Away with ’em, cheating Slaves! 
785 adulterous Rogues! 

Cuff. Mr. Justice, you are a Coxcomb; 
and I shall find a time to cut your Nose. 


Scene I] (Ep 0 Om Well# 177 

Kick. And I will make bold to piss upon 
your Worship. 

Clodp. Oh impudence! Constable secure 790 
’em to night, and Tie send ’em in the morning 
to Kingstone Goal without Bail or Mainprize. 

Cuff. Pheu, our party is too strong for that, 
here in Town. [Ex. Constable , Cuff, and Kick. 

Clodp. Oh this cursed Match of mine! 795 
I’le see what they do within. [Ex. Clodp. 

Mrs. Frib. Good Dear forgive me: I will 
never do the like again. 

Frib. Again, quoth she! no she had not 
need — [ They Kneel. 800 

Mrs. Bisk. Good Duck, now forgive me; 

I will never commit Adultery again, nay I 
will never pluck up a spirit against thee more. 
Thou shalt command me for ever, if thou’lt 
say no more of this business. 80s 

Bisk. Well, my heart melts — I cannot 
deny my Lamb when she begs any thing upon 
her Knees. Rise, poor Bird — but i’fack you 
were to blame, Duck. 

Mrs. Bisk. I was; but I will never do so 810 
again. 

Bisk. But will you swear, as you hope to 
be sav’d ? 

Mrs. Bisk. Ay, as I hope to be sav’d. 


178 


Cp0om Wells 


[Act V 


815 Mrs. Frib. Pray, Dear, forgive me. 

Frib. Ay, now you are upon your Knees; 
but you were in another posture just now. 

Mrs. Frib. And I wish I may never stir 
out of this place alive, if I [e’er] do so again. 
820 Pray forgive me. 

Frib. Well, I’le pass it by for once; but I’le 
not fail to sue Cuff upon an Action of Assault 
and Battery. 

Bisk. And Pie sue Kick too. If we order 
825 our business wisely and impannel a good sub¬ 
stantial Jury, of all married men, they’ll give 
us vast damages. 

Frib. I have known a man recover 4 or 500/. 
in such a Case, and his Wife not one jot the 
830 worse. 

Bisk. No not a bit. But shall I always 
command you ? 

Mrs. Bisk. Yes, you shall, you shall. 

Bisk. Why then, this is the first day of 
835 my raign. 

Enter Woodly, Mrs. Woodly, Rains, Bevil, Lucia and 
Carolina. 

Wood. I desire you all here to stay, and be 
Witnesses of what I now shall do. 


819. [e'er], Qi, ere. 


Scene I] 


CEp$om Wells; 


i79 


Rains. Be not rash, consider ’till to morrow. 

Wood. I have consider’d, disswade me not: 
next to the obligation she did me to let me 840 
enjoy her when I lik’d her, is the giving me 
occasion to part with her when I do not like 
her. 

Bev. I am extream sorry, Madam, that I 
was the occasion, though unwillingly, of this 845 
breach. 

Mrs. Wood. You are not the occasion, he 
believes you not; but if you were, I should 
thank you; for you would rid me at once of 
him and your self too: but the business is, we 850 
like not one another, and there’s an end on’t. 

Wood. But let’s execute our Divorce de¬ 
cently; for my part I’le celebrate it like a 
Wedding. 

Mrs. Wood. To me ’tis a more joyful day. 855 
Enter Clodpate, Jilt, Peg, and Parson. 

Peg. Do but sign this Warrant, to confess a 
Judgment to my Sister, and this Bond to me; 
and I’le null your Marriage, or declare these 
Writings before all these Witnesses to be void. 

Clodp. Give me the Writings. I will do’t 860 
with all my heart. 

860. I will. D, I’ll. 


i8o 


«£p$om Wteite 


[Act V 


Luc. What’s here, another Divorce ? Clod- 
pate begins betimes. 

Clodp. Here they are, take ’em. 

86 s Peg. Well now, Sir, know the Parson would 
not marry you, because the hour was not 
Canonical, but I was fain to steal a Cassock, 
and counterfeit a Beard for Mr. Woodly’s man. 
Look you, this is the first Parson I ever or- 
87odain’d. [Pulls his Beard of'. 

Jilt. I release you of your Marriage and 
thank you, you have qualified me to marry 
one I like better, for I am resolv’d to marry 
upon my word, and suddenly too. 

875 Clodp. ’Sdeath and Hell, if ever I come so 
near London agen, I’le commit Treason, and 
have my head and quarters set upon the Bridge. 

[Ex. Clodpate. 

Wood. Now listen, and be witnesses to our 
agreement. 

880 Mrs. Wood. This I think is the first time 
we e’re agreed since our Wedding. 

Wood. Imprimis , I Francis Woodly , for 
several causes me thereunto especially moving, 
do declare I will for ever separate from the 
885 company of Sarah my now Wife. 

Mrs. Wood. Your lewd disorderly life made 
you separate before. The said Sarah having 


Scene i] (fcpgom OTeils 181 

for this two years scarce seen you by day¬ 
light. 

Wood. And that I will never hereafter use 890 
her like a Wife. 

Mrs. Wood. That is, scurvily. Also all Obli¬ 
gations of conjugal affections, shall from hence¬ 
forth cease, be null, void, and of none effect. 

Wood. Then, that I am to keep what Mis- 89s 
tress I please, and how I please, after the 
laudable custom of other Husbands. 

Mrs. Wood. And that I am to have no Spies 
upon my company or actions, but may enjoy 
all Priviledges of other separate Ladies, without 900 
any lett, hindrance, or molestation whatsoever. 

Wood. And if at any time I should be in 
drink, or otherwise in a loving fit, and should 
be desirous to visit you, it shall and may be 
lawful for you to deny me ingress, egress, and 90s 
regress. 

Mrs. Wood. Yes, though you serve me as 
you do others, and break my Windows. 

Wood. I restore you all your Portion, and 
add 2000/. to it for the use I have had op you. 910 

Mrs. Wood. So, it is done. 

Wood. Is not this better than to live and 


888. this. D, these. 

909. / restore. D, Lastly, I restore. 


182 


fiEpsfom <McllS 


[Act V 


quarrel, and to keep a pother with one another ? 
Faith take a Kiss at parting for old acquaint- 
915 ance. [Kisses her. 

Mrs. Wood. Farewell, dear Husband. 

Wood. Adieu, dear Wife. 

Frib. to his Wife. This ’tis to marry a 
Gentleman, forsooth ; if you had marry’d one, 
920 you certainly had been turn’d away for the 
prank you plaid to night. 

Bisk. Ay, but we Citizens use our Wives 
better: let me tell you, Neighbour Fribble , I 
would not part from my Lamb for all the 
92s world, let her do what she will; she is such a 
pretty Rogue. 

Luc. See what Matrimony comes to — 

Rains. Madam, since we cannot agree 
upon better tearms, let me claim your promise, 
930 and admit me for your Servant. 

Luc. I do receive you upon tryal. 

Caro. And I you upon your good behaviour : 
I think you have gone far enough in one day. 

[To Bevil.] 

Luc. If you should improve every day so, 
935 what would it come to in time ? 

Rains. To what it should come to, Madam. 

Bev. ’Twill come to that, Jack; for one 

933 - fro Bevil] from D. 


Scene I] 


CEpsom Wells 


183 


Fortnights conversing with us will lay such a 
scandal upon ’em, they’ll be glad to repair to 
Marriage. 940 

Wood. To shew you, that there was never 
yet so decent a Divorce, I have Fiddles to play 
at it, as they use to do at Weddings. 

Mrs. Wood. And to shew you I am ex- 
treamly pleas’d, I’le dance at it. 945 

Wood. How easie and how light I walk 
without this Yoak! methinks ’tis air I tread 
— Come let’s Dance, strike up. 

Dance 

Marriage that does the hearts and wills unite y 
Is the best state of pleasure and delight: 95 o 

But — 

When man and Wife no more each other please , 
They may at least like us each other ease. 

[Ex. omnes. 

FINIS 


947. Yoak. D, Yoke. 


\ 








» 


V 
















k 


















EPILOGUE 


A Play without a JVedding, made in spight 
Of old Black-Fryars; ’tis a fine way they write;" 

They please the wicked Wenchers of the Age y 
And scoff at civil Husbands on the Stage: 

To th’ great decay of Children in the Nation , 5 

They laugh poor Matrimony out of fashion. 

A young man dares not marry now for shame , 

He is afraid of losing his good name. 

If they go on thus , in a short time we 

Shall but few Sons of honest Women see: io 

And when no virtuous Mothers there shall be y 

Who is't will boast his ancient Family? 

Therefore , for Heavens sake y take the first occasion , 
And marry all of you for th' good o'th' Nation. 
Gallants , leave your le[w\d whoring and take Wives y 15 
Repent for shame your Covent-Garden lives: 

Fear not the fate of us y whom in the Play 
Our bawdy Poet Cuckolded to day; 

For ours are Epsom Water-drinking Wives , 

And few in that lewd Town lead stricter lives: 20 

But for the rest , he'd have it understood 
By representing few ill Wives he wou d 
Advance the value of the many good. 

15. le[w]d Qi, Q2 leud. 

185 


186 


Cptlogue 


He knows the wise , the fair , the chaste , the young, 
25 party are so numerous and strong , 

Would they his Play with their protection owne , 
They might each day fill all this House alone. 

He says , * 7 / Wives can ever he 

Banded in faction 3 gainst this Comedy. 

30 Therefore come all , who wish to have it known y 

Though there are scurvy Wives y that they are none. 

FINIS 


i^otes to CEpsom Wells 

{For the meaning of single words, see Glossary.) 

From the Lord Chamberlain’s Records it is known 
that Charles II saw Epsom Wells acted at Dorset Gar¬ 
den Theatre on December 2, 1672 (probably the first 
performance); at the same theater on December 4, and 
at court in Whitehall on December 27 of the same year; 
at Dorset Garden on December 5, 1673, and again at 
court on February 20, 1681 (Nicoll, Restoration Drama, 
309, 310, 312). About 1693 it was revived with new 
settings to the songs by Henry Purcell (W. Barclay 
Squire, “ Purcell’s Dramatic Music,” Sammelbande der 
Internationalen Musikgesellschaft, V, iv, 1904, 522—523). 
In the eighteenth century it appeared again on July 11, 
1702, and several performances are recorded, the latest 
being in the year 1726. 

About March, 1678, was produced at Dorset Garden 
Tunbridge- Wells: or, A Day's Courtship, written, 
according to the title page, “ By a Person of Quality,” 
and ascribed by Langbaine to Thomas Rawlins. Evi¬ 
dently written in imitation of Shadwell’s play, it is, as 
Langbaine remarks, certainly inferior “ in point of 
Humour and Repartee,” and no records of performance 
are known. 

In 1763 Samuel Foote used part of Epsom Wells for 
his two-act comedy, or farce, The Mayor of Garratt. 

187 


188 


jpotesf 


Mr. and Mrs. Fribble and Mr. and Mrs. Bisket appear 
under the names of Jerry Sneak, Mrs. Sneak, Bruin, 
and Mrs. Bruin; but the principal character, Major 
Sturgeon, a city militia officer, is new, and is said by the 
author of Biogra-phia Dramatica (1782) to have been 
“ most inimitably performed by Mr. Foote, with pro¬ 
digious applause.” 

Referring to the original play, Downes, in his Roscius 
Anglicanus (1708, p. 33), has the following note: 

Epsom Wells , a Comedy Wrote by Mr. Shadwell, 
Mr. Rains was Acted by Mr. Harris: Bevil, by Mr. 
Betterton: Woodly, by Mr. Smith: Justice Clod- 
pate , Mr. Unde hill: Carolina , Mrs. Johnson: 
Lucia , Mrs. Gibbs: Mrs. Jilt by Mrs. Betterton: 
Mr. Nokes, Mr. Bisket: Mr. Angel, Fribble. This 
Play in general being Admirably Acted , produc’d 
great Profit to the Company. 

Note, Mrs. Johnson in this Comedy , Dancing a Jigg 
so Charming well. Loves power in a little time after 
Coerc'd her to Dance more Charming, elsewhere. 

Thomas Betterton and Henry Harris were associated 
with Sir William D’Avenant in the management of the 
Duke of York’s playhouse. Betterton was, of course, 
the greatest actor of the period, preeminent both in 
tragedy and in comedy. Harris had created the parts 
of Sir Frederick Frolick in Etherege’s Love in a Tub 
(1664), and of Warner in Dryden’s Sir Martin Mar-all 
(1667). He was an intimate friend of Shadwell, as 
appears from a letter of Nell Gwynne to Mr. Hide, 1678, 
in which she says 

My lord of Dorscit apiers wonse in thre munths, for 
he drinkes aile with Shadwell and Mr. Haris at the 


jfSOtfS 189 

Duke’s House all day long. (Quoted in Notes and 
Queries, 4th Series, VII, 3.) 

Of Cave Underhill, Colley Cibber in his Apology, 1740 
(page 92), says 

In the course, rustick Humour of Justice Clodpate, 
in Epsome Wells, he was a delightful Brute. 

Whether Mrs. Gibbs was the original Anne Gibbs who 
had joined D’Avenant’s Company in 1661 is not cer¬ 
tain; it is possible that the latter actress was identical 
with the Anne Gibbs who became, before 1668, Shad- 
well’s wife, but it must be remembered that Mrs. 
Shadwell had married a Thomas Gaudy in 1662 (see 
Biography, page x, and the Times Literary Supplement, 
April 16, 1925, 268). 

Title page. The Greek Motto is from the treatise 
known as On the Sublime, ascribed to Longinus, and may 
be translated “ To miss a high aim is to fail without 
shame.” (Cf. Stephanus, Thesaurus Graecae Linguae, 
s. v.) 

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY 

2 , 17. Maecenas. The patron of Virgil and Horace. 

3 , 26. Welbeck. In the dedication before The Liber¬ 
tine, 1676, Shadwell speaks of his warm reception by 
the Duke at this seat. 

34. Wit. For Shadwell’s definition, see Introduc¬ 
tion, page xxxviii. 

PROLOGUE 

6. (Heading) Sir C. S. Sir Charles Sedley, an inti¬ 
mate friend of Shadwell’s, who dedicated to him The 
True Widow, 1679. 


190 


i^OtE£( 


4. they did so to Ben. A reference to the failure of 
Ben Jonson’s The New Inn , and other late comedies. 

19. Half Crown. The price of admittance to the 
pit, corresponding to the modern stalls, fauteuils, or 
orchestra. 

22. Masks. Used, by metonymy, for the ladies 
who visited the theater. Owing to the abuse of the 
custom by women of ill-repute, masks were forbidden 
by Queen Anne to be worn in theaters. 

PROLOGUE TO THE KING AND QUEEN 

6,15. Has now liv’d twice ; i.e., the two performances 
at Dorset Garden, December 2 and 4, at both of which 
the king was present. 

16-17. If . . . own ( and footnote). Cf. Introduc¬ 
tion, page xlv. 

ACT I —SCENE I 

10 , 24-26. How the White Aprons . . . Hey. The 
hey, or hay, was a country dance in the nature of a reel. 

37. Lyons in the Tower. A menagerie was kept in 
the Tower of London from Henry Ill’s time, and be¬ 
came one of the sights of London. In 1834 the lions 
were transferred to the Zoological Gardens. 

11 , 51-52. Bowling-Green. One of the fashionable 
resorts at Epsom. Writing in 1726, John Toland, in 
A New Description of Epsom , with the Humours and 
Politicks of the Place: In a Letter to Eudoxa, (in A 
Collection of Several Pieces , II, 103) writes of two rival 
bowling greens: “The Ladies, to show their innate 
inclination to variety, are constantly tripping from one 
green to the other; and the Men are more sure to 
follow ’em, than glad of the occasion, to excuse their 
own no less propensity to change.” 


jpote$ 


191 


13, 90 - 91 . like Fulsom Galenists take it in gross. 
Galenists, followers of Galen (a physician, second cen¬ 
tury, a.d.), as contrasted with regular chemists, relied 
almost entirely on the use of simples; hence are here 
considered as being cruder in their methods. 

109, no. lighting our Candle at both ends. The 
earliest use of this phrase in N.E.D. is in Bailey’s Dic¬ 
tionary, 1730-6; Cotgrave (1611) is cited for the corre¬ 
sponding French “ Brusler la chandelle par les deux bouts.” 

17, 207. the second of September, the date of the 
outbreak of the Great Fire of London. See Diaries of 
Pepys and Evelyn. 

20, 292-293. Justice of Quorum; Quorum, the com¬ 
mission appointing justices of the peace, “ of whom ” 
certain were specially named as in all cases necessary 
to constitute a bench. The self-importance of Clodpate 
recalls that of Sir Roger de Coverley, another justice 
of quorum (see Addison’s Spectator, No. 122). 

21, 305. encourage the Woollen Manufacture. The 
Woollen Act, 1681, compelled people to use flannel 
shrouds for corpses, under a penalty of fifty shillings. 

22, 339. Gazette, i.e., the London Gazette, founded 
1665, a single folio sheet printed on both sides giving 
mainly court and foreign news. 

344. Wisnowisky. Michael Wisniowiecki was elected 
in 1669 to the Polish crown. The Gazette of 18-22 
July, 1672, gives the following news from Vienna, 
July 11 : “ We have received here this week very un¬ 
welcome advices from Poland. Our Letters from 
Warsaw speaking not onely of the breaking up of the 
Dyet, but that the Factions were grown so powerful, 
as to dare to speak of the deposing the King.” See 
also IV, i, 46, note. 


192 




344. Potosky. Not identified. 

23 , 345. General Wrangle. Karl Gustav von 

Wrangel, 1613-1676, commanded the Swedish Army 
in Germany during the Thirty Years War; became 
general of the realm and member of the Regency during 
the minority of Charles XI. 

345. Count Tot. The London Gazette, 16-19 Sep¬ 
tember, 1672, has the following news from Hambrough, 
13 September: “ Count Tot, ambassador extraordinary 
from the Crown of Sweden to the Most Christian King, 
is some days since passed through this place on his way 
to the French Court, whither it is said he goes to offer 
the Mediation of the King his Master.” He appears 
to be satirized under the name Totty Potty Moy in 
Shadwell’s epilogue to The Miser (24 January, 1672) in 
the course of his attack on heroic plays. 

25 , 389. Tunbridge. The wells here do not seem to 
have been so popular as those at Epsom; but they had 
been visited by Charles II and Catherine of Braganza 
in July, 1663 (see Pepys, 22 July); by the queen and 
the maids of honour in July, 1666 (Pepys, 22 July) and 
by the king later in the same month (Pepys, 31 July). 

28 , 463-464. Knight errand. Knight errantry had 
been recently used for satirical purposes by Samuel 
Butler in Hudibras (1663), adapting the idea of Don 
Quixote to tilt against the wickedness of the times. 

31 , 557-558. Love and Honour upon the Stage. The 
conflict between love and honor was a favorite theme, 
especially in tragedy. D’Avenant’s Love and Honour 
(1649) may be regarded as the prototype of the Restora¬ 
tion heroic play. (See Dr. J. W. Tupper’s edition in 
this Series.) It will be seen that Shadwell uses this 
theme in the present play. See below, V, i, 553. 




193 


34 , 620. Ludgate. At the bottom of Ludgate Hill 
formerly ran the little River Fleet, which gave its name 
to the notorious Fleet Prison. The district figures 
among the scenes in Pope’s Dunciad , Book II. 

635-636. Parsons Decoy-Ducks. In the market 
before the doors of Fleet Prison men plied on behalf of 
clergymen, literally inviting people to walk in and be 
married. The parson would perform the ceremony 
inside the prison to sailors and others for what they 
could get. The parties retired to a gin shop to treat 
the parson; and there, and in similar houses, registers 
were kept of the marriages. (See Leigh Hunt, The 
Town , Chap. II.) 

37 , 696. Cheapside Neighbours. Cheapside was the 
principal marketing thoroughfare of the city and resi¬ 
dential district of trades people. 

38 , 711. Allons. One of the recently imported 
French expressions affected by fashionable folk. 1 

39 , 740-741. Gentlemen in Buff Belts . . . Breeches, 
soldier’s uniform of the time. 

ACT II —SCENE I 

41 , 5. of a clear Title, without encumbrance; plainly. 

42 , 34-35. two or three hundred pounds, the fees to 
be paid when a knighthood was conferred. 

44 , 87. Tongs and Key, or a Gridiron; cf. The 
Spectator , 21 July, 1714 (No. 570) : “ Finding our Land¬ 
lord so great a Proficient in Kitchen-Musick, I asked 

1 Medley’s speech in Etherege’s Man of Mode, 1676, II, i, 153 : “ . . • 
the Art of Affectation, written by a late beauty of Quality, teaching you 
how to ... . use all the Foolish French words that will infallibly make 
your person and conversation charming.” 


194 


#ot ti 


him if he was Master of the Tongs and Key. He told 
Me that he had laid it down some Years since, as a 
little unfashionable: but that if I pleased he would 
give me a Lesson upon the Gridiron. He then informed 
me that he had added two Bars to the Gridiron, in order 
to give it a greater Compass of Sound; and I per¬ 
ceived was as well pleased with the Invention, as Sappho 
could have been upon adding two Strings to the Lute.” 
The “ Tongs and the Bones ” are referred to by Bottom 
in A Midsummer Nights Dream , IV, i, 32; cf. Furness* 
Variorum Ed. 

89. John Hopkins, or Robert Wisdoms vile Metre. 

Hopkins was associated with Thomas Sternhold in the 
well-known metrical, or rather, doggerel version of the 
Psalms made in Elizabeth’s reign. They are referred 
to in the Spectator , No. 205 (October 25, 1711). Robert 
Wisdom (died 1568) made a metrical version of Psalm 
125 which was used as late as 1693. (D.N.B.) 

98. Puddle-dock, also known as Puddle wharf, is 
mentioned in Stowe’s Survey of London. It was in the 
Blackfriars district. 

47 , 174. cross I win, pile you lose, equivalent to 
heads or tails. From the French croix ou pile (the 
obverse and reverse of a coin). 

48 , 197. the year 42 , referring to the manners of the 
Court of Charles I about the year 1642, when the Civil 
War broke out. 

49 , 214. mother of the maids, official title of the 
mistress of the maids of honour, an office dating from 
the reign of Elizabeth. 

61 , 253. (Song), originally set by Nicholas Staggins, 
to be found in Playford’s Choice Songs and Ayres, 1673. 
(W. Barclay Squire, loc. cit.) 


0o m 


195 


261. Canonical Coxcomb, foolish parson. 

62 , 287. Lay by your pleading, an old cavalier 
song. 

64 , 320. Fire-ship, a vessel loaded with combustibles 
to be sent among enemy ships, as used, e.g., against the 
Spanish Armada. 

66, 345. Allons. See I, i, 711, note. 

66, 362. Aqua Mirabilis, a strong cordial liquor. 

377. Laws of the Maids and Parsons, parodying the 
laws of the Medes and Persians, famous for their rigid¬ 
ity. Cf. Daniel , VI, 8, “ According to the laws of the 
Medes and Persians, which altereth not.” 

71 , 733. methodical Block-head. Shad well was to 
use this humor in the person of Lump, in The True 
Widow , 1679: “Lump, A methodical Block-head, as 
regular as a Clock, and goes as true as a Pendulum , one 
that knows what he shall do every Day of his Life by 
his Almanack (where he sets down all his Actions 
before-hand), a mortal Enemy to Wit.” 

74 , 803. Falstaff ; cf. I Henry IV, II, iv, 307-310: 
“ but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true 
prince. Instinct is a great matter ; I was now a coward 
on instinct.” In the Preface to The Sullen Lovers , 
1668, Shadwell had written: “ I never saw one except 
that of Falstaffe that was in my judgment comparable 
to any of Johnson's considerable Humours.” 

76 , 830. Ombre, a card game introduced soon after 
the Restoration. The word is said to be a form of the 
Spanish hombre, a man. A well-known description of 
the game is in Pope’s Rape of the Lock, canto III. 

848. Langtriloo, better known as “ Loo,” another 
fashionable card game, also referred to in The Rape of 
the Lock. 


196 


jpotes; 


ACT III —SCENE I 

83 , 75. [Covent]-garden, originally Convent Garden, 
belonging to the abbots of Westminster. The neighbor¬ 
ing Bow Street was the Bond Street of Charles II’s 
time, and in the neighboring side streets were many 
houses of ill-fame. 

84 , 104. that’s once, equivalent to the modern slang 
term, “that’s that”; cf. Wycherley’s The Country 
Wife , III, i, 89, where Mrs. Pinchwife says, “ I will go 
abroad, that’s once and later (1. 107) “ for I will go, 
that’s flat and plain.” 

117-118. I am the Duke of Norfolk, an old ballad 
also known as Paul's Steeple. 

118. Greensleeves, a ballad at least as old as 1580 
when it was licensed under the title A New Northern 
Dittye of the Lady Greenesleeves and has remained popu¬ 
lar to the present day. [N.E.D.] 

87 , 171. Oh how I abhor. This song set by Robert 
Smith is to be found in Playford’s Choice Songs and 
Ayres. (The First Book , 1673.) [W. Barclay Squire, 

loc. cit .] 

93 , 313. the New Inn. See IV, i, 260, note. 

96 , 364. Good Sir Pol. Perhaps a reference to Sir 
Politick Wouldbe in Ben Jonson’s Volpone. 

370. Ad autre = A d’autres (?). Pshaw! I know 
better, Don’t tell me that. 

98 , 460. ne’re stir. A common expression in Shad- 
well’s plays, equivalent to the modern slang, “ you 
bet.” 

100 , 488-489. Cacara camouchi . . . Mamamouchi, 
alluding to Edward Ravenscroft’s The Citizen Turned 
Gentleman (D. G. 4 July, 1672), an adaptation of 


iliotes 


197 


Moli^re’s Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme. In Act IV, a 
character impersonating the Grand Seigneur confers on 
Mr. Jordan the title Mamamouchi, equivalent to 
Paladin, in return for the latter’s daughter. In the 
course of the deception, Trickmore explains the meaning 
of Cacaracamouchi as “ my pretty Pigsnie ” (translating 
“ ma chere ame). 

103 , 587. try the Eccho. Listening to echoes was a 
favorite diversion of the time. They frequently occur 
in the operatic plays of the period. Pepys was much 
taken by the echo in Shadwell’s operatic Tempest 
(7 November, 1667); also by “the brave echo upon 
the stairs ” at Somerset House (21 January, 1665). 

107 , 676. You charm the Air ; cf. Macbeth , IV, i, 129. 
D’Avenant’s version of Macbeth was one of the most 
popular of Restoration plays. 

ACT IV —SCENE I 

111 , 4-5. Coal under the Candlestick, even or odd 
with a Witness, an obscure expression relating to card- 
sharping. 

113 , 45-344, poor Poland’s. See I, i, 344, and note. 

46. Sobieski. John Sobieski, a brilliant soldier 
under Wisniowiecki, was involved in a series of conspira¬ 
cies to dethrone that king and openly placed himself 
under Louis XIV. In 1674 he succeeded to the throne 
as John III and became famous for his deliverance of 
Vienna and victories against the Turks. The London 
Gazette , 9-12 September, 1672, gives the following news 
from Warsaw, August 28: “The Grand Marechal 
Sobietski is at present at Lembergh, where he is endeav¬ 
ouring what he can to reinforce himself against the 


198 




Turks. In the issue for 11-14 November news from 
Warsaw (1 November) makes known that Crown 
General Sobieski defeated 20,000 Turks. 

47. Prince Lobomirski, an intriguing Polish states¬ 
man. 

114 , 76-77. Bishop of Munster, ecclesiastic, soldier, 
and statesman. The Gazette of 18-22 July has the 
following news from Brussels: “ We have certain 
advice that the Bishop of Munster hath taken Covcerden, 
that place having surrendered the 12 instant, into which 
he made his publick entry the next day: the loss of 
this place will be of great consequence to the Province 
of Friesland , who now lies open to the enemy.” In 
August and September he is mentioned as leading the 
siege of Gronningen (Groningen). 

116 , 90-91. Cossacks upon the Ukrain. These are 
mentioned several times in the Gazette between August 
and November, 1672. Advices from Warsaw 8 No¬ 
vember, give treaty terms between Polish king and the 
Grand Signior among which occurs “ The Ukrain shall 
be left free to the Cossacks, as in former times.” 

105. Bonus nocius, a corruption of the Spanish (?) 
expression for “ good night.” 

118 , 155, 156. a Norfolk Gentleman, like Shadwell 
himself. 

122 , 260-261. Clay-Hill. Mentioned by Toland 
{op. cit.y 95) along with New-inn-lane and Woodcote- 
green as being “ preferr’d to the principal street by such 
as are lovers of silence and retirement.” 

262-263. Mawses Garden, not mentioned by To¬ 
land. 

131 , 491-493. Monsieur ne mettez . . . The use 
of French was much affected by Restoration beaux; 


Jiotesf 199 

it was considered especially appropriate in connection 
with duelling. 

133 , 525. keeping Coxcombs. The practice of 

“ keeping ” a mistress is satirized in Dryden’s Mr. 
Limberham: or The Kind Keeper (D. G. March, 1678) 
and in Shadwell’s The True Widow (D. G. March, 1679). 

135 , 569. vi & armis, literally, by force of arms. 

589. Raw-head and Bloody-bones, imaginary mon¬ 
sters; cf. Beaumont and Fletcher’s The Prophetess, 
1622: “ Like Bloody-Bone and Raw-head to frighten 
children.” ( N.E.D ) 

593. Practice of Piety, a popular devotional manual. 
140 , 717 — 141 , 718. Castigo . . . amem, I chas¬ 
tise you not in anger but in love. 

ACT V —SCENE I 

146 , 58. French Towns, apparently referring to the 
Second Dutch war in which Charles II was the ally of 
France. 

62. Nimmegen, Nimwegen, or Nimeguen, a Dutch 
town, where the treaty was signed in 1678. 

147 , 72. Rhiming Plays and Romances. The heroic 
plays against which Shadwell is always tilting were 
regularly founded on the fashionable French romans de 
longue haleine, of which there were many translations 
and adaptions. 

80-82. the Invasion . . . Phlegm, apparently from 
a popular song of the day. 

148 , 115. Box Hill, a few miles from Epsom, still a 
well-known beauty spot. 

149 , 125-127. Hey for Cavaliers ... an old Civil War 
song to be found in Pills to Purge Melancholy , 1714, 
and in other collections. 


200 jj^ote0 

149, 136-137. Here’s a Health . . . another Cavalier 
song, still popular. 

150. An old senseless song, origin not traced. 

152, 204. Dappers Gag of Ginger-bread, an allusion 
to Ben Jonson’s The Alchemist , III, v. 

167, 553 - 554 - Love and Honour. See I, i, 557, note. 

172, 670. Platonick Love, an affectation of the time of 
Charles I. D’Avenant’s The Platonick Lovers , 1636, 
illustrates the fashion. 

674~775- These lines express perfectly the Restora¬ 
tion attitude to marriage; cf. page 180, 878 seq. 

I 74 > 736. Mall-Cutpurse, a notorious Elizabethan 
virago whose real name was Mary Frith, and who 
provided the subject for Middleton and Dekker’s The 
Roaring Girl; or, Moll Cutpurse , 1611. 

736. Doll Common, a well-known character in Ben 
Jonson’s The Alchemist . Mrs. Corey, the actress, was 
also known by this name, in consequence of her popu¬ 
larity in the role. Pepys saw her in the part of Abigail 
in The Scornful Lady, acting “ most excellently ” 
(27 December, 1666); and on 15 January, 1669, he 
speaks of a great faction at court “ about my Lady 
Harvy’s being offended at Doll Common’s acting of Sem- 
pronia to imitate her; for which she got my Lord 
Chamberlain, her kinsman, to imprison Doll: upon 
which my Lady Castlemaine made the King to release 
her, and to order her to act it again worse than ever, 
the other day where the King himself was; and since it 
was acted again, and my lady Harvy provided people to 
hiss her and fling oranges at her: but it seems the heat 
is come to a great height, and real troubles at Court 
about it.” 

176, 784-785. Cuff’s insolence to Clodpate recalls 


20 1 

Conrade’s contempt for Verges in Much Ado About 
Nothing , IV, ii, 71 seq. 

180, 866, 867. the hour was not Canonical, i.e., out¬ 
side the hours legally recognized for marriages. 

877. head and quarters. When a malefactor was 
hanged, drawn, and quartered, it was the practice to 
expose the head and quarters on poles on London 
Bridge. 

882. The legal phraseology here recalls the fact that 
Shadwell had been a member of the Middle Temple. 

EPILOGUE 

2. Black-Fryars, one of the pre-Restoration theaters, 
pulled down in 1655; here stands for the older type of 
comedy. 

19-31. See Introduction, page xlvii. 






^oluntma 


204 


®t)e Volunteer* 


TEXT 

The present text is based on the quarto edition of The Volun¬ 
teers, dated on the title page 1693. It evidently appeared soon 
after Shadwell’s death as it was advertised in the London Gazette, 
15-19 December, 1692. The large number of misprints in this 
text may be due to the fact that it did not have the benefit of 
the author’s revision. It is to be noted that they are, in almost 
every case, corrected in the 1720 Duodecimo edition of the 
Works, Volume IV, in which, however, occur several apparently 
unauthorized readings. No other edition is known to have been 
published. In the present text obvious misprints are corrected, 
the original readings being shown in the footnotes, where also 
other variants which appear in the 1720 text are shown. Where 
the punctuation of this later text makes the meaning clearer or 
conforms more closely to modern usage, it has been adopted. 

SOURCES 

Apart from the fact, first noted by Charles Gildon in his 
enlarged edition of Langbaine’s Dramatick Poets, 1699, that the 
character of Sir Timothy Kastril appears to be modelled on 
The Little French Lawyer of John Fletcher (printed 1647), The 
Volunteers seems to be an entirely original study of a phase of 
English national life. As pointed out in the Introduction, the 
popular enthusiasm for volunteering in Flanders under the king 
afforded Shadwell his main theme. The subsidiary theme of 
the stockjobbers, which shows very little connection with the 
main plot, is so slight as scarcely to warrant the subtitle of the 
play. Shadwell, however, has succeeded in giving a very graphic 
picture of the contemporary folly of speculation and faithful 
satirical portraits of the Puritans who tried to reconcile their 
gambling transactions with their conscience. It is noteworthy 
that Macaulay in his history of the times draws on both themes 
as presented by Shadwell. 


THE 

VOLUNTEERS, 

ORTHE 

Stock-Jobbers. 

COMEDY, 

As it is Ailed by 


AT THE 

Theatre Royal. 


Written by THO. SHAD WELL, Efy Late 
Poet-Lawreatj and Hiftoriographer Royal. 
Being his laft Play. 


LON D 0 N f Printed for James Knapton, at the Crown in 
St. Paul's Church-yard. 1693. Where are alfo to be had 
all Mr. Sbodwelts 17 Plays, &c. Bound up, or tingle. 


205 




TO THE QUEEN 


MADAM 

The little Wit of our poor Family , as well as the 
best part of the Subsistance , perisht with my Hus¬ 
band ; so that we have not where withall, worthily 
to express our great Acknowledgment due for the 
s Support and Favour we have already received, much 
less to publish to the World your Virtues , and other 
Endowments , both of Mind and Body; which in a 
private Person would have procur’d you the Admira¬ 
tion of Mankind , and cannot in a Queen but be 
io consider’d as the highest National Blessing we 
enjoy from Heaven. This Consciousness of our 
own Disability , will much shorten your Majesties 
Trouble; we shall only therefore, without more 
words, and with all Humility, and Profound Respect, 
15 throw this our last Play at Your Majesties Feet, 
begging Your Acceptance of it; and that You wou’d 
once Honour it with Your Presence, which will be 
the greatest Happiness that can arrive in this World 
to me his Unfortunate Widow, and from this World, 
20 to Your Faithful Servant, my Deceas’d Husband. 
I am, 

MADAM , 

Your Majesties most Humble, 

Most Obedient, and most 
Faithful Subject and Servant, 
Anne Shadwell. 


206 


A PROLOGUE 


Written by Mr. Shadwell, and designed to be Spoken, 
but was lost when the Play was Acted. 

Our Poet taught by you, Sirs, to despise 
All Rule, contemns the Witty and the wise: 

And to the high and mighty Fops Pm sent, 

With his Address and humble Complement. 

Our Author will abhor withal his heart, 

All Laws and Presidents of Wit and Art: 

With you will venture Life and Fortune too, 

And sacrifice his little Wit to you. 

You who like worthy Judges can dispence 
With all the Laws of Wit and common Sense: 

Make Towring Bombast creeping farce to pass, 

And a Triumphant Poet of an Ass. 

Oh Fop ! the happiest of all Human-kind ! 1 
In all the empty corners of his mind, 

Not one ill thought he of himself can find. J 
The wise have anxious and unhappy been, l 
In men of wit is melancholly seen; 1 

But you are ne’r in danger of the Spleen, j 

4. Complement. D, compliment let al. J. 

5. withal. D, with all. 

6. Presidents. D, Precedents. 

207 


208 


prologue 


Not but that some of you are witty too, 

20 And more transcendent Fops for being so: 

Let wisest men speak freely from the heart, 

The Fop in them is much the pleasant’st part: 

Blest Thoughtless men! all others y’ave run down, 
And now before ye carry all the Town: 

25 Who is so pert, so witty at a Play ? 

In Town so brisk, and at the Court so gay ? 

Who in the City grow most rich, and thrive ? 

In Town who on their wits like Fops can live ? 

Who can so soon into Preferments jump ? 

30 For whatsoe’re the Game is, Fop is Trump. 

But above all, who have the finest parts 

With Ladies ! who like them can charm their hearts ? 

Our Poet yields to your most Sov’raign Sway, 

And does from you alone protection pray. 

35 The Wits and Criticks differ, and are few, 

You’re one and all, nothing can alter you: 

A numerous and uncorrupted Tribe, 

Whom Sense can ne’r perswade, nor Wit can Bribe! 

23. y’ave. D, you’ve. 

33. Sov'raign. D, Sov’reign. 


PROLOGUE 


Written by Mr. Durfey y and [Spoken by]* 
Mrs. Bracegirdle. 

Since Deaths a Buccaneer, and the World will Rob t 
As well of Wits , as the dull common Mob; 

Though not much learn'd, I have Philosophy 
Enough , to teach me *tis in vain to Cry: 

Sad Thoughts then in our Author's Grave Vie bury , 
And mind the Work in handy — to make you merry; 
Soy shall I to his Genius give just due y 
And pleasure what still strove to pleasure you: 

I mean all you that can good Satyr bear , 

Let th ' rest look grum y make mouths , and sweat for fear. 
We by the Hiss y shall soon know who is hit y ] 

Nor can that Noise of end the men of wit; > 

There still must be some Fools in a full Pit: J 
Among so many Judges met to Day y 1 

The Bullion Sence wou’d break in the Essay / 

Were there not some gross mettle to allay. J 
How many Squires could I this instant shew , "j 
Well pleas'd to see our Author's Head laid low; > 

I dare say I see twenty in one Row. J 

* [Spoken by]. Q, Spoken of by. 

i. the World. D, th’World. 

16. mettle. D, metal. 

209 


210 


prologue 


20 Pox, cries a Chit with Native Vice endu'd. 

That has just got a Genius to he lewd: 

An honest Rakehel can't get drunk , nor whore , 
Break Windows , scowre the Watch , Bully nor roar: 
But straight a Character shall plague him for t; 

25 Rob him! I'm glad he's dead with all my heart. 

A man may now get something by the Age , 

Without being laugh'd at fort upon the Stage. 

Mon Dieu! cries Miss, as right as ever twang'd , 
These Rhiming Satyr Rogues should all be hang'd. 
30 I live by Law , a Protestant true blew , j 

All Taxes pay , and am to Church so true , > 

I make my Assignations in a Pew. J 

From Crimes like these to make an Audience laugh , 
Who Vices dare Explode , — both kinds are safe, 

35 For th' Poet, Mate, — by Proxy does to Day , 
Entreat you all to guard his Orphan Play: 

His Sacred Boon above we hope he'l have , 

His Wit below , his Friends he hopes will save , 

' Tis none but Devils damn beyond the Grave. 

30. blew. D, blue. 


DRAMMATIS PERSONAS 

Major General Blunt. An old Cavalier Officer, some- 


Mr. Lee , 

what rough in Speech, but 
very brave and honest, and 
of good Understanding, and a 
good Patriot. 5 

Coll. Hackwell , Sen. 
Mr. Dogget, 

An old Anabaptist Collonel of 
Cromwell' s, very stout and 
Godly, but somewhat Im¬ 
moral. 

Coll. Hackwell, Jun. 
Mr. Powell , 

His Son, a Gallant well-bred 10 
young Gentleman, who has 
gotten much Honour in the 
Reduction of Ireland. 

Welford. 

Mr. Hodgson , 

A brave young Gentleman, a 
Volunteer, of a good Estate, 15 
who has gotten much Honour 
in the late Wars. 

Sir Nicholas Dainty. 
Mr. Bowman , 

A most Fantastick, Conceited 
Beau, of Drolling, Affected 
Speech ; a very Coxcomb, but 20 
stout; a most luxurious 
effeminate Volunteer. 

Sir Timothy Kastril. 
Mr. Bowen , 

An ugly sub-Beau, as Conceited 
as the other, but has a mortal 


hatred to War, that lives a 25 

2. [ Actors’ names omitted in D.] 

25. War, that. D, war, and that. 

21 1 


212 


EDrammatts personae 


lazy Dronish Coxcombly Life, 
writing Billet Doux. 



Nickum. 

Mrs. Hackzvell’ s Stallion; a 


Mr. Alexander, 

Sharper, which is a new name 

30 


for a Rogue and a Cheat. 


Ding-boy. 

Another Rogue of his Acquaint¬ 


Mr. Freeman, 

ance. 


Hop. 

A Dancing-Master. 


Teresia. 

A foolish Confident, conceited 

35 

Mrs. Knight, 

and affected young Lady, 
Daughter to the Major Gen¬ 
eral. 


Eugenia. 

A very fine young Lady, the 


Mrs. Mount/ord. 

Reverse of her Sister Teresia. 

40 

Winifred. 

An ill-bred, Scornful affected 


Mrs. Rogers, 

thing, a great Friend to Te¬ 
resia, and Daughter to Mrs. 
Hackzvell. 


Clara. 

A Bea[u]tiful Ingenious young 

45 

Mrs. Bracegirdle, 

Lady, a great Friend to 
Eugenia , Daughter to Coll. 
Hackzvell, by a former Wife. 


Mrs. Hackzvell. 

A most Devilfish Imperious Wife, 


Mrs. Lee, 

and the worst of Step-Mothers. 

50 

Lettice. 

A very honest young Maid, 
Servant to Mrs. Hackzvell. 


Prudence. 

Chamber-Maid to Teresia. 


Stitchum. 

Mr. Penkethman. 

A Taylor. 


Servants, Footmen, 

Fidlers, Singers, Dancers, Constable 
and Guards. 


44. 

Bea[u]tijul. Q., Beatiful. 


The Volunteers 


ACT I. SCENE I 

Enter Teresia, Eugenia, and Hop. 

Hop. So Ladies; ’tis enough this Morning, 

I must now to your Neighbour, Madam Hack- 
well’s Daughter, Madam Winifred , she is the 
finest Lady; Ah, ’twoud do a Man’s Heart 
good to have such Schollars. s 

[Hop puts on his Galashoes , and takes his Cloak 

and Kitt. 

Teres. Let me dye, if she be not a fine Lady 
indeed. 

Eugen. Lord! Sister, how we differ; I 
take her to be the most Fantastick, Vain, Inso¬ 
lent, Ill-bred foolish Creature about Town, io 
— except your self. [Aside. 

Teres. Alas! poor Ignorant thing, thou 
judge, the Country has stupified thee, may I 
perish else. 

Hop. Her Mother is a fine discreet, sober, I5 
213 


214 


®l)e Volunteers; 


[Act I 


wise Lady, but her Father-in-Law’s a damn’d 
old Phanatick Collonel of Cromwell' s, and will 
not let his own Daughter learn: — He says 
Dancing is Whorish; But thank Heav’n, his 
20 Lady wears the Breeches. 

Teres. Out on him, old filthy Fellow; 
Dancing is the prettiest innocent Accomplish¬ 
ment, upon my word, I’ll say’t. 

Hop. Aye Madam, You are in the Right, 
25 there is not such another. I hate these 
damn’d Phanaticks, they wou’d ruin the 
Nation. 

Eugen. You Cutters of Capers have no 
very good Friends of them indeed.— 

30 Now does this Puppy think Dancing the most 
considerable thing in the Nation. [Aside. 

Hop. Well, sweet Ladies, your Servant. 

Enter Major-General Blunt. 

M. G. Bl. Good morrow Hop. What, will 
the Girls pace ? Shall we make ’em Amble ? 

35 Hop. Your Worship’s a merry Man; Sir, 
I am in haste. [ Exit Hop. 

M. G. Bl. Well, get thee gone about thy 
capering Vocation, Well said Wenches, you 
are early up ; bless ye both. 

Eugen. and Teresia kneel. 


Scene I] 


e nnttm 


215 


Teres. I wish you Joy of your Birth-day. 40 

Eugen. And I Sir, may you see many more 
happy ones; And live till you shall wish to 
dye. 

M. G. Bl. Well said, my Girl. 

Teres. I vow, I wish you may live an 45 
Hundred Years : I’ll swear I do. 

M. G. Bl. A Dod Wench, that’s not so well, 
thou stin’st me; ’Tis somewhat of the least; 
— Well, this is my Birth-day. And my 
Wedding Day, that joyn’d me to the best of 50 
Women, rest her Soul; This Day, I always 
Celebrate with Jollity and Feasting. 

Teres. Oh pray Sir, let’s have Dancing; 
Oh Lord, I am no body without Dancing, I’ll 
swear. 55 

M. G. Bl. Oh Lord, you shall have Dancing : 

[Mi[m]icking her. 
But what need you affect, and drawl out your 
words so, like a waiting Woman, run over with 
Green-Sickness and Romance ? 

Teres. Are you angry with a Grace in 60 
Speech ? 

M. G. Bl. Grace ! A Dod, it is a Disgrace; 
can’t you speak as you were taught ? But 

43. dye. D, die [et al.]. 

47. A Dod. D, A-dod [et al.]. 

56. Mi[m]icking. Q, Minnicking. 


216 


tE ty ©oluiuws 


[Act I 


come on, I’ll do my Duty to you both: For 
65 you I have left my dear Country Life, my 
sweet and fragrant Air; with plain, natural 
and honest Company, for Essence of Sinks and 
Common-Shoars, for subtle Artificial Knaves, 
Ambitious Covetous Villains, who wou’d sell 
70 their very Country for Money, or a Title added 
to that of Villain. 

Eugen. A sad Exchange for me, who love 
nothing like the freshness, ease and silence of 
the Country, to endure the Stinks, the rat[t]ling 
75 noise, and Tumult of the Town. 

Teres. Poor thing; The Country Life’s a 
pretty Life for a Dairy Maid; but for a fine 
Lady, there’s nothing like this delicious Town : 
And I’ll say’t, Hockley in the Hole here is 
8o sweeter than a Grove of Jessamin in the Coun¬ 
try; Oh there is nothing in this World like 
London. 

M. G. Bl. For Whores by’r Lady, among 
the Coxcombs and the Beau’s, London! They 
85live not here the Life of Nature; ’tis all Art 
and Trick; every thing is put on, and Foppery. 

Teres. The Life of Nature? that’s for 
Beasts. 

68. Common-Shoars. D, Common-Sewers. 

74. rat[t]ling. Q, ratling. 


Scene I] 


)t ©oiunteer* 


217 


M. G. BL Beasts! By the Lord Harry , 
Fops are below Beasts. Who ever knew ago 
Beast a Fop ? Nature never makes one, ’tis 
Affectation, which never is among Beasts. 

Eugen. Who that has Sence or Vertue, 
cou’d endure the piteous Dullness of new 
Plays, the Idleness of Basset and Comet; the 95 
most provoking Impertinence of how do you’s, 
and visiting Days, with Tea Tables ? 

Teres . Oh Lord! Speak against Basset , 
Comet , and visiting days, and Tea Tables; I 
pity thee, poor Country thing : Thanks to my 100 
dear Aunt, that gave me London Breeding: 

I’ll say’t, ’twas a Portion, let me die else. 

M. G. BL Come dear Eugenia , thou hast 
Sense. 

Teres. She Sence, hi, hi, hi, hi, Country 105 
Sence. 

M. G. Bl. Yes, that she has, hi, hi, hi, hi, 
Country Sence is better than London Impu¬ 
dence; I cannot say thy Aunt has corrupted 
thee; for by the Lord Harry , there must be a no 
strong Root of Folly in thee, to grow to this. 

Teres. Aye Sir, you may say what you 
please. 

M. G. Bl. But come Teresia , this is not my 

105. Sence. D, sense [et al.]. 


2 l8 


®t)e Volunteers? 


[Act I 


115 Business; I am resolv’d to do well by both of 
ye; — I have a pretty good Estate, and might 
have had a Thousand Pound a Year more, but 
that I must flye from the University forsooth, 
to run a Cavaliering, and so to have the honour 
120 to be flung from one Jayl into another, and be 
sequester’d, and Decimated, after being run, 
and shot through, and hack’d to some purpose 
for my Loyalty. 

Eugen. No Man ever signalized his Cour- 
125 age and his Sufferings more than you: The 
Name of Major General Blunt will be remem- 
bred. 

M. G. Bl. And I got well by’t Adod, no 
more of that; — I am come up to this Smith - 
130 field, like a Horse-Courser, to put off a Brace 
of Fillies, in this Market of Matrimony; I am 
resolved to dispose of ye very soon, that I may 
go down and live, and breath again. 

Eugen. Sir, I am not so fond of parting with 
13s so good a Father, ’tis time enough. 

M. G. Bl. By the Lord Harry , ’tis high time, 
Wenches; don’t I know y’are full ripe; and 
when y’are so, ye nothing but think and dream 
of Fellows, all of ye; A Dod ye do. 

140 Teres. Oh Lord, I think and dream of 

138. y’are. D, ye’re. 


Scene I] 21 9 

Fellows; hi, hi, hi, hi. I’ll swear it is the least 
of my Thoughts, hi, hi, hi, hi. 

M. G. Bl. Til swear you lye; hi, hi, hi, hi, 

’tis the greatest of your Thoughts; hi, hi, hi, 
hi, what a Pox, do you laugh when there is no 14s 
Jest ? 

Teres . Smiling and laughing becomes ones 
Face. 

M. G. Bl. What, Laughter that’s put on, 
and affected ? It provokes to Vomit: what a 150 
Devil is this playing with a Fan, and falling 
back, and pulling up your Breasts, and thrust¬ 
ing out your Bumm, and tossing your Head, 
and distorting of your Body, and being more 
Antick than an Ape. i 55 

Teres. Say what you please Sir, I can never 
be put out of Love with a good Mien and Air, 
and Graceful Deportment, good breeding, and 
such things: With your Pardon Sir, you love 
Rusticity, I vow you do. 160 

M. G. Bl. I love Nature, and hate Affec¬ 
tation, I vow I do; well, ’tis in vain to strive 
to cure a Fop. Here is near hand a Parallel 
for you; Collonel Hackwell ’s [Wife’s] Daughter 
Winifred. 165 

Teres. All the World says, one of the finest 

164. [wife’s]. Q, Wives. 


220 


®tje ©oluittwrs 


[Act I 


bred Ladies in Town, Til say’t they do; who 
but Madam Winifred , let me dye. 

M. G. Bl. And for thee my Girl, there’s 
170 his Daughter. 

Eugen. I never knew a young Lady of such 
Wit, Modesty and Discretion, in my Life; 
nor one whom I cou’d wish so much to make a 
Friend of. 

17s Teres. Nay, you are right now I’ll swear, 
hi, hi, hi, hi, a poor Ignorant ill-bred Tit; 
I’ll say’t she knows nothing of the Beau Mond, 
as Sir Poppling says. 

M. G. Bl. What an Authors that ? A dod 
180 she is a provoking Jade. 

Teres. An Author; for my part, a Com¬ 
pany of ill-dress’d Slovenly Course bred 
Fellows may laugh at him, but I’ll say’t, ’tis 
the best Character of a fine accomplisht Gentle- 
185 man that e’re I saw in a Play; and Madam 
Winifred , my dear Friend, is in my Mind. 

M. G. Bl. Ounds, I have much ado to for¬ 
bear kicking her; But I’ll contain. [Aside. 
Come Wenches, this is nothing to my pur- 
190 pose; I am resolved to marry you out of hand, 
and will be so kind to you both to let you 
choose, if they be Gentlemen, and with indif- 

182. Course bred. D, Coarse-bred. 


Scene I] 


*9olunteer0 


221 


ferent Fortunes, and no blemmish of baseness; 
ye shall have ’em : Come on Girls, deal plainly 
and honestly with your Father; A dod do, hah. 195 
Teres. Hi, hi, hi, hi, 0 Lord Sir, do you 
think I love a Fellow ? Hi, hi, hi, hi, I hate 
Fellows, I vow Sir, O Lord, I. 

M. G. Bl. Pox on her, I cou’d wring her 
Neck off; what! do yo[u] hate Beau’s ? 200 

Teres. Indeed the Beau’s are the finest 
Gentlemen; I would not give a Farthing for 
one that is not a Beau. 

M. G. Bl. Set thy Heart at rest; by the 
Lord Harry , thou shalt have a Beau. 205 

Teres. I have one! Oh Lord, do not think 
so meanly of me, to imagine I am in Love; 
who e’re has a mind to me, I’ll make him dye 
for me. 

Eugen. Name Sir Nicholas Dainty . 210 

M. G. Bl. What think you of Sir Nicholas 
Dainty; he is the top of all the Beau’s and 
Coxcombs of the Park, and Play-house. 

Teres. Oh Lord ! Oh Lord ! All the World 
says he is the finest Gentleman in England; 2I5 
the most curious Dress, the finest Air, and the 
gallantest Mien; let me dye, all the World, 
every body says it; but I can’t love any Fel- 

200. yo[u]. Q, yo. 


222 


®t)e ©oluntffW 


[Act I 


low, alas, most of the Beau’s Ogle and Dye for 
220 me now, and I mind ’em no more than my little 
Dog Fenny. —Oh how happy shou’d I be in 
the Arms of that delicate, perfect, most accom¬ 
plished, sweet Sir Nicholas. [Aside.] 

M. G. Bl. Thou hast hit her right; what a 
225 rare Match ’twoud be, better one House than 
two troubled with them; I was his Guardian, 
and I know by him, there is no more turning 
of a Fop into a Man of Sense, than of an Owl 
into a Nightingale. He has a good Estate, 
230 Teresia: But pray let me see; D[o]d, he is 
going a Volunteer this Compaigne. 

Teres. Oh Heaven and Earth ! a Volunteer; 
I dye, I dye ! [She faints. 

M. G. Bl. How now, how now, what’s the 
235 matter ? 

Eugen. Why Sister, what ailst thou ? 

Teres. Oh Lord! A Volunteer. [Aside. 
Nothing but Wind upon my Stomach, with 
staying so long for my Breakfast. — I’ll retire 
240 Sir; Oh Lord, Oh Lord, Oh Lord, a Volunteer! 
I cannot out-live it. [Exit. Teresia , Eugenia. 

M. G. Bl. Step in with her, and return 
instantly; What Prodigy is this? Was ever 
Creature so different, from Father and Mother, 


230. D[o\d, Q, Dad. 


Scene I] 


®fje ©oiunteerg 


223 


and Sister; by the Lord Harry , I shall begin 24s 
to believe the old Tales of Fairies changing 
Children in the Cradles; by’r Lady they have 
sent me a damn’d Fantastick Fairy: — Come 
my Eugenia , thou art the Darling of my Heart, 
the Image of thy dead Mother. 250 

Enter Eugenia 

Eugen. I should be happy to deserve the 
Favour, and that Character. 

M. G. Bl. Come, come, out upon Comple¬ 
ment, A dod thou dost; come on, be plain and 
honest, no trifling; tell me what Gentleman 255 
dost thou like best of all thou hast seen at 
London. 

Eugen . I know you too well to dissemble 
with you, or conceal any thing from you, which 
you require me to let you know; Young 260 
Collonel Hackwell our Neighbour, the old 
Collonel’s Son, is the most agreeable Person 
of a Man, the best bred, and of the best sence 
I have seen : And I observe all Men of good 
Reputation, give him an excellent Charac- 265 
ter. 

M. G. BL Faith Wench, let me kiss thee 
for that: He is the prettiest young Fellow in 

253. Complement. D, Compliment! 


224 


©oluntmsf 


[Act I 


England , an understanding wise young Fellow, 
270 as much Wit as any Man, well tempered, of 
great Honour, in great Favour with the King; 
he has done Wonders in the War of Ireland; 
he has gotten much Reputation, but no black 
Cattle; and adod Girl, he is as brave a Fellow 
275 as my self; There is as much difference between 
thy Choice and hers, as between an Eagle and 

a Jay- 

Eugen. But Sir, All this is not to the Point, 
for he cannot be thought of for a Husband by 
280 you: For his Father, by the Indignation of 
his second Wife, has turned him off, and is 
resolved to disinherit him. 

M. G. Bl. That ever that old Blockheaded 
Round head shou’d fight for Liberty; and I’ll 
285 tell thee Wench, I shall ne’re forget him; we 
have had Rubbers, and adod he is a plaguy 
Fellow. I have had his darn’d long Tuck in 
my Body, and this Fellow, to sneak to a con¬ 
founded, silly, Fantastick, ugly, old second 
290 Wife; the most termagant Jade in Christen¬ 
dom: But my poor Eugenia , if his Son had no 
Fortune, hee’d hew himself out one with his 
Sword, under so brave, and magnanimous a 
King: If not for thy sake, I’d give him one, to 

292. hee’d. D, he’d. 


Scene i] t Volunteers 225 

make thee happy, but Fifteen Hundred Pound 
a Year is intailed upon him. 

Eugen. I can scarce forbear to worship so 
good a Father: And on my Knees, I humbly 
thank you for your kind intention : Pray think 
it not immodest, if I ingenuously confess I 
love this Man more than Liberty or Light, or 
all that this World holds dear, or valuable: I 
could with him waste all my Life in Wants, in 
Rags, and in a Desert. 

M. G. Bl. By the Lord Harry , a brave 
Wench, blush not, ’tis no shame to love a Gal¬ 
lant Fellow, ’tis natural to love, and ’tis a 
Disease not to be Subject to it: But let me 
see, there is something to be considered, will 
he love ye, hah, adod hah. 

Eugen. Be pleased to peruse those billets, 
I would to have been lost for ever, e’re I woud 
have proceeded farther without your leave; 
in these you’ll find him Honourable, Sir. 

M. G. Blunt. Ha! Let me see. — Your 
Excellent Beauty , Incomparable Wit and Ver- 
tue — Passion — Transport — Honour — Right; 
a dod, thus it was when I was a young Fellow: 
ah Wench, I shall never forget [what] I was; ah, 

300. ingenuously. D, ingeniously. 

315. see. — Your. Q, see your. 

319. [what], omitted, in Q. 


295 

300 

305 

310 

315 


226 


©olunteers 


[Act I 


320well, I say no more: Let me see: To begin at 
your Father , wou f d look like Imposition , yet 
without his consent I must resolve to be miserable: 
by my Honour, a pretty young Fellow. This 
way of proceeding shews I have most Honour for 
325 the Daughter , the other would express more for 
the Father. 

Eugen. You have lighted upon the first; 
I have answer’d none, nor ever would, with¬ 
out your Consent. 

Enter Coll. Hackwell jun. and Mr. Welford. 

330 M. G. Bl. Cods my life, see who’s here ? 
The very man. 

Eugen. Give me my Billet Sir. 

[She sna[t]ches the paper and runs out. 

Hack. jun. Fair Lady, do you fly for the 
same. 

335 M. G. Bl. These Cunning young Wenches 
wo’not be seen undrest, till it be too late to 
mislike ’em. 

Hack. jun. I come to wait on you, my 
Noble Major General, to give you joy of your 
340 Birth-day; and I wish you all the happiness 
Mankind is Capable of. 

M. G. Bl. Thank ye heartily, young fellow. 

332. sna[t]ches. Q, snaches. 


Scene I] 


)t ©oluntws; 


227 


Hack . jun. Sir this Friend of mine, who is a 
man of honour, and I dare say, you’l think 
worthy of your Acquaintance, desires the 34s 
honour of it; ’Tis Mr. Weljord. 

M. G. Bl. The brave Volunteer, who has 
not heard your name ? Y’are welcome, I am 
your Servant. 

Welf. If any thing could make me proud, 350 
it would be praise from so brave a Souldier, 
and so great a Patriot. 

M. G . Bl. Praise! A Gentleman who 
maintains Twenty well appointed Horsemen 
at his own Charge; and serves a private man 355 
amongst ’em, deserves praise from every brave 
fellow, and true English man; you must Dine 
with me to day, both of yee, Adod I love brave 
young fellows, the noise of War fires my old 
Blood, methinks I long to be amongst you. 360 

Hack. jun. You have shewn such Gallan¬ 
try, as we can but faintly Copy after. 

M. G. Bl. Well, I have seen Action in my 
time, and have swing’d and been swing’d, 
by my hilts I have : I have been shot and run 36s 
thorough, and cut in the head and face, for a 
Cause not half so great as this: These knocks 
give me such Remembrance, that my old 

363. Action. D, Actions. 


[Act I 


228 e Volunteers; 

Carcase will not suffice my mind; — It [wo’not] 
37° be. 

Hack. jun. The thought would perplex a 
man, to find that a Cottage upon a Common 
may be sustained from Age to Age; and these 
poor frail tenements, must drop for all the 
37s Reparations we can make. 

Welf. Gallant old Soldiers have nothing 
to do, but to be as easie as they can, and live 
and enjoy the fame, they Nobly wone. 

M. G. Bl. A Dod it is a kind of Chewing the 
380 Cud upon honour; Faith young fellows, if 
this Carcase wou’d serve my mind, Fde not 
be the hindmost, by the Lord Harry; War 
was another thing in my time, we fought and 
push’d it on, as troth you did well in Ireland. 
385 Now your French Trick is to lie secured in 
passes, and not fight. 

Hack. jun. But delay like a Chancery 
Suite to undo the Plantiffs pursestrings. 

M. G. Bl. ’Tis not shot bags, but money 
390 bags that do Grand Lewis his Business; but 
come on young fellow, how stand matters 
between your Father and you ? 

Hack. jun. In a most forlorn Condition. 

369. [wo’ not], Q, wonot. 

378. wone. D, won. 

388. Suite. D, suit. 


Scene I] ®t)e ©Oltmtm‘0 229 

Welf. Dear Tom , I’ll go to him about that 
Business and meet as appointed. 395 

Hack. ju. [You’ll] find it in vain, There is 
no Creature so obstinate as a Godly Man. 

M. G. Bl. Sir, your Servant, fail not at 
Two, at Dinner. 

Welf. Sir, your most humble Servant, 1 400 
will not. [Exit Welf. 

Hack. jun. That’s as brave a Gentleman as 
e’re drew Sword ; I have seen him, in Clouds of 
Smoak, and Showers of Bullets, as Fearless as 
if he were Invulnerable; He refuses all com-405 
mand and takes all the Duty and Fatigue of a 
Centry upon him; and spends a thousand 
pound a Year among Sick and wanting Soldiers, 
and fares plainly himself. 

M. G. Bl. He has the Spirit of Cato , brave 410 
Cato , Monstrat tolerare labores non jubet> such 
a Volunteer ought to be honour’d. Now a 
Company of fluttering Fops, think of nothing 
but living well in a Camp. A dod, one Dra¬ 
goon’s worth 40 such. 415 

Hack. jun. To say the Truth, Instead of 
hardship, toil, abstinence, we have Introduced 


396. [You'll). Q, Youl. 

407. Centry. D, Centinel. 

408. wanting. D, wounded. 


230 


®i)e Volunteer* 


[Act I 


in Camps, Softness, efF[e]minacy and Luxury, 
and such Extravagance in Cloaths and Equi- 
420 page — 

M. G. Bl. A Damn’d French Invention to 
undo men, and make them absolutely depend 
like Slaves, as the Janizaries did once upon the 
Turks. But look thee, to our Business, Your 
42s Father Dines with me to day. I know he has 
turn’d you out of doors; and in the first place, 
no Complements, but it shall be a Mortal Quar¬ 
rel between us, if you send not your Goods and 
Servants hither, and make my house your own. 
430 Hack. jun. Sir, You — 

M. G. Bl. Look you young fellow, answer 
me not, but with your Leg; But do what I 
say, A dod I will have it so. 

Hack. jun. He’s always in Earnest. — 

435 Oh, most surprizing Joy, to be in the house 
with my Mistress. I’ll shortly reveal my love 
to him. [Aside. 

M. G. Bl. That Mother in Law of thine, is 
a Confounded Jade, and I believe given to 
440 stumble much ; there is an odd fellow keeps her 
Company. 

Hack. jun. She calls him Cozen, his name is 
Nickum. 

418. ef[e]tninacy. Q, Effiminacy. 442. Cozen. D, Cousin [et al.]. 


Scene I] 


Volunteers 


231 


M. G. Bl. Aye Nickum / what is that fellow, 
Nickum ? 445 

Hack. jun. He was a Notorious Sharper, 
and now she swells his pocket for him. 

M. G. Bl. Sharper! A pox on that new 
name. The old [ones,] Rogue and Cheat, are 
better, Dod I hate mincing; so Miss is a450 
pretty new name; Miss with a pox! Is not 
the old one Whore better, Miss with the 
Devils name; Whore I say. There is a Sister 
in Law for thee; a damn’d affected foolish 
Jade; they say the young fellow calls her455 
scornful Lady. 

Hack. jun. Insolent enough of all Con¬ 
science, and affected to Nauseousness. 

M. G. Bl. Dod thou wilt live to see her take 
up with a Groom or some pitiful fellow. 460 

Hack. jun. Truly she is somewhat lia¬ 
ble. 

M. G. Bl. But thy own Sister is the very 
Reverse of her; but come lets into my Dressing 
Room and Consult about matters, and then 46s 
we’l walk in the Park. 

Hack. jun. Tis delicate weather; every 
body will be there. 

[Ex. M. G. Blunt and Hack. jun. 


449. [ones,]. Q. one ia. 


232 


Wtyt JBoiuntwtf 


[Act I 


SCENE II. 

Coll. Hackwell’s House. 

Enter Winifred and Hop. 

Hop. Now sweet Madam Winifred , this 
470 Room is private, no more dancing, Oh Love, 
Divine Love. 

Win. Get you gone you naughty Man, sure 
you used Witchcraft, I that have scorn’d all 
the young fellows in the Town, and used ’em 
47s like Dogs, to be caught with you. 

[She pats him on the Face. 

Hop. Indeed Madam Winifred ’tis your 
great Goodness and no desert of mine. 

Win. Ah, that dear Kit, and plaid upon by 
those Fingers, ’twas that won upon me first, 
480 let me Die, Oh you make the finest musick of 
that prety Kit. 

Hop. Hist, hist, some body comes, fa, la, 
la, la, Coupee, fa, la, la, round streight. 

Enter Prudence. 

Pru. Madam Teresia desires your Ladiship 
485WOUM favour her with your Company to St. 
James’s Park this forenoon. 


481. prety. D, pretty [et al.\. 


Scene II] 


©oiunteera 


^33 


Win. Go tell my Dear, I’ll not fail; — She 
is the finest Lady in the Universe I’ll vow. 

[Exit Prudence. 

Hop. Not when Madam Winifred is by; 
let me kiss those dear pretty dear hands. 4go 
Enter Clara unseen and unheard. 

Win. Go, go, get you gone, let me dye, 
you have the Charmingst way with you. 

Clara. Is this learning to Dance! very 
pretty! is all her haughty Insolence and scorn 
come to this ? 4 g5 

Hop. Dear sweet Lady of my Life, when 
shall our two half broad pieces meet ? I have 
a Minister ready at an hours time to joyn 
’em; this day we shall all be merry at Major 
General Blunts , we may easily drop out, — 500 
Hah, who’s here ? Madam, pray mind, fa, la, 
la, la, Lord you are careless. 

Clara. What reason is there, this fellow 
shou’d not be hamstring’d ? but I’ll take no 
notice, her sence and breeding is fit for none 505 
but a Cut-Caper. 

Hop. Nay whether do you turn; why dont 
you mind me ? 

Clara. M[e]thinks Mr. Hop , she does mind 
you; and is much improved by your Instruc- 510 
tions. 


509. M[e]thinks. Q, Mathinks. 


2 34 


®\)t ©oluntcers 


[Act I 


Win. Well, what’s that to you what I am; 
what, did you come to listen ? must I have 
such a one as you to be a spie upon me Mrs. 

515 Malapert? 

Clara. Breedings a good thing Sister; a 
very good thing. 

Win. Breeding, Thou talkest of Breeding, 
why thou canst not walk a Corant poor thing; 

520 — You breeding and never learnt to dance. 

Hop. Breeding without dancing ! 

[Exit Hop. 

Clara. Breeding is in the head, not in the 
foot, Sister. 

Win. Come, come Mistress; I’ll not be 

525 used thus; I that have been profered all the 
best and finest Gentlemen about the Town, 
who die for me; and to be suspected for my 
Dancing Master. 

Clara. The Innocent ne’re fear suspition. 

530 Win. That is as much as to say, I am not 
innocent; you are, I know what you are; 
marry come up ? I’ll not endure it. 

Clara. You make me smile. 

Enter Mrs. Hackwel. 

Mrs. Hack. How now what’s the matter ? 

535 Win. Am I born to be abused by that 

529. suspition. D, Suspicion [et al.\. 


Scene II] 


)t Volunteer# 


235 


Family? Heres Mrs. Pert — must listen and 
watch, and be a Spie upon me, as if she sus¬ 
pected my being alone with a Dancing Master. 

Mrs. Hack. Huswife! how dare you treat 
my Daughter thus, ’tis sawcy in you; shall I 540 
be perpetually affronted by your Paltry 
brood ? I have gotten rid of one, and the other 
shall out suddainly; must we have Spies upon 
us forsooth ? marry come up Minx. 

Clara. Ill words shall not make me forget 545 
my duty to my Fathers Wife. 

Mrs. Hack. Your Fathers Wife, Impu¬ 
dence ; what is that Fathers Wife of kin to you ? 

Clara. My true Stepmother. 

Mrs. Hack. Stepmother! Hey day ! there’s 550 
a name, I shall have fine titles by and by: 
Mrs. Spie, I’ll spoil your Office. 

Clara. I scorn the Office; but Madam, the 
Innocent fear no Spies. 

Mrs. Hack. Oh most Audacious, tell me of 555 
the Innocent! 

Win. Have I scorn’d all the fellows of the 
Town, that have Ogled me and Writen Billets ? 

Mrs. Hack. Aye, aye, and those that die 
for her now; tho’ I must confess it is a faul[t]. 560 

543. suddainly. D, suddenly. 

558. Writen. D, Written. 

560. faul[t]. Q, faulf ( misprint). 


tpe Volunteer* 


[Act I 


236 


Win. Don’t I hate all the filthy fellows ? 

Mrs. Hack. And use ’em with all the Con¬ 
tempt Imaginable. 

Win. To be watched when I am alone with 
565 a Dancing Master. 

Mrs. Hack. Aye, aye, to be watch’d with 
a Dancing Master, he poor fellow. 

Win. Nay, not such a poor fellow neither, 
the man’s a pretty man, a very pretty man; 
570 but for my Vertue; my Honour to be ques¬ 
tioned. 

Mrs. Hack. If my Cozin Nickum comes to 
see me, we must be watch’d, and you must 
pop in and out forsooth; — and he is as fine a 
575 Gentleman as the Sun shines upon. 

Clara. Oh my poor deluded Father, to be 
abused by a Rascal, Cheat and Rook. 

Mrs. Hack. Come on Huswife; I’ll not 
endure this under my roof. 

5S0 Clara. How Innocence can smile at accu¬ 
sation. 

Enter Coll. Hackwell, sen[i\or* 

Hack. sen. Who has offended thee my dear 
Lamb ? 

Mrs. Hack. One that always will; am I and 

572. Cozin. D, Cousin. 

* sen[i]or. Q, senor. 


Scene II] ©Olmttttttf 237 

mine bom to be affronted perpetually by your 585 
brood here ? 

Coll. Hack. sen. I am sorry dear Lamb, but 
what’s the matter ? 

Mrs. Hack. Good Lack! what’s the mat¬ 
ter ? As if I cou’d not tell when I was af- 590 
fronted ; but you must judge. 

Win. As if we did not know, when we were 
abus’d, huh. 

Hack. sen. Look thee, I profess Lamb I am 
sore afflicted at these things; but we are one 595 
Flesh, and thou art dearer to me than all the 
World, I will cleave unto thee. 

Mrs. Hack. Cleave quoth he! She listens 
and watches when my Daughter’s alone 
with her Dancing Master; as if she wou’d be600 
naught with him. Must my Daughter be sus¬ 
pected ? 

Nay, she has the Impudence if any Gentle¬ 
man (as my Cozen Nickum or so) comes to wait 
upon me, to spy and listen; must my Vertue, 605 
my known Vertue be once in Suspition ? 

Hack. sen. Look thee lamb! I beseech 
thee weep not dear lamb, verily none can be so 
wicked to suspect such known vertue; I pro¬ 
fess Clara , I am incens’d against thee, yea 610 
greatly incens’d. 


238 


®l)E ©olunterrs 


[Act I 


Clara. I have been used to bear, and for 
your sake I can do it. 

Mrs. Hack. Most audacious! She smiles 
615 and laughs at us. 

Clara. Let Guilt look dejected, Innocence 
will smile. 

Mrs. Hack. In short, I am resolv’d not to 
be under the same roof with her; your wicked 
620 Son and she, have made me weary of my life. 

Hack. sen. Verily, thou art unto me my 
lamb, as the Apple of my Eye, and in truth 
Clara, I am greatly moved in Spirit, and I am 
resolved for the quiet of thy good Mother to 
625 dispose of thee, but first I’ll seek the Lord 
upon it. 

Mrs. Hack. Tell me of seeking; seek me 
no Body, but do it. 

Enter Mr. Welford. 

Clara. I have born this Tyrany long 
630 enough; Thank Heaven I have a Fortune of 
my own; and will take care to dispose of my 
self. [Exit Clara. 

Welf. Heav’n grant it were to me; by the 
world she is an Angel, I never saw killing 
63s beauty, till this Instant. 

Win. What fellow’s that ? But I must go 


Scene II] 


JMunteettf 


2 39 


to my dear, and walk with her in the Park: 
She sent to me. [Exit Winifred. 

Welf. Is this my Friends Sister, hah, I had 
forgotten. 640 

Hack. sen. Who are you, Sir: have you 
ought with me ? 

Welf. I have, if you be Collonel Hackzvell , 
somewhat which concerns you. 

Hack. sen. Men are wont to call me so; Is 645 
it about the Linnen Manufacture ? 

Welf. Ha! this Godly old fellow, is of the 
honest Vocation of Stockjobbing — {Aside) 

— No it is not. 

Mrs. Hack. The Glass ? 650 

Welf. No. 

Hack. sen. The Copper ? 

Welf. No. 

Hack sen. The Tinn ? 

WelfI No. 655 

Mrs. Hack. The Divers ? 

Welf. No. 

Hack. sen. Oh the Paper! 

Welf. None of these. 

Mrs. Hack. It must be the Dippers; who will 660 
make Sarcenet keep out rain like Drap de Berry. 

Welf. None of all these, nor no wager about 
the retaking of Mons , Phillipsburgh, Mont - 


240 


®l)e iBolunteer# 


[Act I 


melian; Nor Invading of France by the first 
665 of August , none of all these, but some private 
business wherein I desire your care alone. 

Mrs. Hack. What, wou’d you part Man 
and Wife ? 

Welf. No, if I had that Dispencing power, I 
670 wou’d mend all the High ways in England; 
Repair the Old, and Erect New Bridges every 
where; and build Churches Innumerable. 

Hack. sen. And Hospitals. 

Welf. Not one, that’s your City Custom, 
675 to cheat all their lives time; And give away 
what they have gotten from the Right owners, 
to the founding or increasing of an Hospital; 
besides I like not the Charity of making half a 
score Knaves live luxuriously, and the poor 
680 who shou’d be rel[ie]v’d to live miserably 
under them. But to my business, which is not 
so fit for your ear Madam. 

Mrs. Hack. I hope it is not Obscene Sir ? 

Hack. sen. I profess that is not fit for my 
685 eares then; but look ye Sir, my Lamb and I, 
are one Flesh. 

Mrs. Hack. Do you think there is a secret 
of Mr. Hackwell that is not mine ? 


666. care. D, Ear. 

680. rel[ie]v’d. Q, releiv’d. 


Scene II] 


®i )t Boiunteet# 


241 


Hack. sen. Not one verily. 

Welf. Sure this Fellow cou’d never be my 690 
Freinds Father, pray heav’n his Mother was 
honest. 

Enter Nickum. 

Mrs. Hack. Wellcom dear Cozen Nickum. 

Hack. sen. Good morning Cozen. 

Nickum. Your most humble Servant. 695 

Mrs. Hack. Well Sir, No whispering, I 
must and will hear all my husband’s business. 

Welf. Oh breeding and modesty whither 
are you flown ? well then, I may plead my 
Cause in the Face of open day; and in the700 
greatest Assembly. Sir, you have a Son : 

Hack. sen. I have, what then, wou’d he 
had Grace. 

Welf. I don’t know what you call Grace; 
but he has as much Vertue and Honour, as any 705 
Gentleman living: 

Hack. sen. Vertue and Honour will bring 
him but to hell. 

Mrs. Hack. He vertue and honour. 

Welf. Yes Madam, the world knows it, 710 
loudly speaks of it, for my part I think it my 
greatest honour to be call’d his Freind. 

691. Freinds. D, Friends [et al.\. 

693. Wellcom. D, Welcome. 


2^2 


®l)e Volunteers 


[Act I 


Hack. sen. But what’s all this to me ? 

Welf. ’Tis to your honour; he is greatly 
715 favoured by the King; extream-beloved by 
the People, much esteemed by the Generals, 
adored by the Soldiers, and has won immortal 
honour in the Reduction of Ireland; he never 
speaks of you without Love and Reverence, 
720 and wou’d give all the world to be in your 
favour; no Parent yet e’re had a Son of greater 
Piety, and you to turn him off. 

Hack. sen. I profess to you, I do not think 
it fit for one who has liv’d 68 Years to take 
725 advice of one without a beard. 

Mrs. Hack. What have you to do with us ? 
pray sweet Sir, go your ways and meddle with 
your matters. 

Welf. I have been told ye were stout and 
730 behav’d your self bravely in the Civil War. 

Hack. sen. Indeed I must confess I was not 
wont to fly before the face of an Enemy in that 
day. 

Welf. Methinks this should make you love 
735 and cherish a brave fellow that sprung from 
you; besides, what will Mankind say of you, 
for using him so ill, whom they like so well ? 

Hack. sen. The Righteous fear not the 
Censures of the Wicked, he has been dis- 


Scene II] 


®tie Volunteers? 


243 


obedient and disrespectful to my dear Lamb. 740 
Welf. [Aside. Lamb with a pox, why does 
not he call her Yew ? 


[To him . He is too much a well-bred 


Man, and a Man of honour 
to be guilty of that. 


745 


Mrs. Hack. Sir, I cannot but wonder at 
your Impudence; out of my doors he is a 
Scurvy, Sawcy, Scandalous Fellow. 

Welf. Death, Madam, I wou’d not hear a 


Man say so. 


Nickum. What if you shou’d Sir ? 

Welf. Why, I wou’d pull him by the nose, 
if you please I will shew you how. 

Nickum. Do you know who I am ? 

Welf. You are now a fellow with a whole 755 
face, but if you dare speak one ill word of my 
Friend, you shall be a fellow with a slasht face. 



Mrs. Hack. So, very fine, he must send his 
Hectors to affront us, and our Freinds; Avaunt, 760 
get the[e] out of my doors, Bully. 

742. Yew. D. Ewe. 

747. Impudence; out . . . doors he. D, Impudence — out . . . 
doors! He. 

748. Sawcy. Omitted in D. 

761. the[e]. Q, the. 


244 ©Oltmtm# [Act I 

Nickum. Dare, — Let me go, Hilts and 
Blades. 

Hack. sen. What is your name ? 

765 Welf. My name is Welf or d. 

Nickum. Hah! what a Devil, the Volun¬ 
teer that’s so talked of. Ounds, he’ll whip me 
through in the twinkling of an eye, I will retire. 

[He sneaks out. 

Hack. sen. Look you Mr. Welford , put me 
770 not to use the Carnal weapon in my defence, 
but leave me. 

Welf. Mistake me not Sir, I come to you 
with all the respect imaginable; and I am 
sorry I have offended; your humble Servant. 

[Exit Welford. 

77s Mrs. Hack. Rude Fellow, impudent Hec¬ 
tor, do you see my duck ? What a Bully he 
has sent to you, ’twas a Mercy my Cozen was 
here; He might have assassinated you, your 
wicked Son is grown to the height of Impiety, 
780 1 am afraid of thy dear Life, poor Duckling. 

Hack. sen. Ah my poor Lamb, thou art a 
dear sweet Creature. 

Enter Nickum. 

Nick. Is the Rogue, the Scoundrel gone ? 

Mrs. Hack. Indeed Duckling we are might- 
785 ily obliged to my Cozen Nickum. 


Scene II] 


®l )t Volunteers: 


245 


Nick. This Rascal put me into such a pas¬ 
sion, I was afraid I must have kill’d him before 
your Faces, and that he had been Uncivil: 
This made me retire. 

Hack. sen. I do not know whether this Man 790 
be stout or no; but I remember in the War 
we always used to beat these Blusterers most 
exceedingly. 

Nick. But I’ll reckon with the Bully another 
time. 79s 

Hack. sen. Hold Cozen, desist from that 
Resolution; for I say unto you : and verily I 
speak it in knowledge, that all Manslaying, 
unless it be Defensive, or for the faith, is un¬ 
lawful. 800 

Enter Lettice. 

Lettice. Sir, Here are a great many wait in 
the Parlour to speak with you about the 
Manufacture. 

Hack. sen. I go, — Good morrow Lamb. 

[Ex. Hack Sen. and Lettice. 

Mrs. Hack. Now we shall enjoy our selves 805 
without Interruption; My dear Pigsny, let us 
triumph, I have gain’d an absolute Victory, the 
next thing is to make him settle his Estate 


788. that he had. D, that had. 


246 


turtle ©oluntma 


[Act II 


(that is not entailed) as I please, or no quiet, 

810 no sleep shall be known to him, and I warrant 
thee Dear I’ll do’t. A Wopian, if she has Wit 
and Industry, and will watch his Blind sides, 
and attack ’em, never fails of her Ends upon 
her Husband. 

815 Ever since Grandam Eve, I dare maintain, 1 
A Husband with his Wife contends in vain, > 
For she at length her point will always gain. J 

Nick. Gallants, take warning by me, how 
shall I be persecuted, 

820 Fly an Intrigue with any old Man’s Wife, 

For trust me ’tis a sad laborious Life. 

ACT II. SCENE I. 

[Enter] * Sir Nicholas Dainty , and Sir Timothy Kastril , with 
Foot-Men behind them. 

Sir Nick. S[i]r Timothy Kastril, I kiss your 
Hands. 

Sir Tim. Sir Nicholas Dainty , I am your 
most humble Servant. 

Sir Nich. ’Tis a fine fresh Morning, we 
s shall have all the Beauties here to be frost 
nipt. 

Sir Tim. Cods my Life, I am [come out] 

* [Enter]. Q, omitted. 

1. S[»]r. Q. SSR. 8. [come out], Q, comeuot. 


Scene I] 


)t ©olunteersf 


247 


without my Billets Doux: What a Devil shall 
I do, I shan’t be able to talk with a Beau all 10 
day: Here, Sirrah, Jack , go to the Blockhead 
my Valet de Chambre , and ask him why he was 
such a Son of a Whore, to let me come out 
without my Billets Doux; go and fetch them, 
run all the way. 15 

Sir Nich. O fie, Come abroad with[out] your 
Billets; I don’t look upon my self as drest, till 
I have put them up. But the Ladies do so 
persecute me, that damme if I be not weary 
of the Fati[g]ue of answering them : I think 1 20 
must keep a Secretary, I keep Gri[s]ons Fellows 
out of Livery, privately for nothing, but to 
carry Answers. 

Sir Tim. [Aside.] What wou’d he say, if he 
had my trouble ? for I Gad I write abund[a]nce 25 
of mine, and answer ’em too my self; for a 
Man must not be out-done in Billets, by any 
Brother Beau: Hah! I have found ’em, they 
are in my little Pocket. 

Sir Nich. See what a Parcel I have re- 30 
ceived this Morning: It cost me Three 
Hours answering of ’em; for you know a Man 

16. with[out]. Q, with. 

20. fati[g]ue. Q, Fatique. 

21. gri[s]ons. Q, D, grifons. 

25. abund[a]nce. Q, abundunce. 


248 ®lje ©olunteew [Act II 

must write handsomely, and like a Gentle¬ 
man. 

35 Sir Tim. Thank Heav’n, I have as pretty 
a knack with my Pen as another. 

Sir Nich. Hear this, — [Reads. 

If you knew how I languish for want > of your 
Conversation , you wou’d he so kind as to 
ao afford it to me this Afternoon , at Three a Clock , 
when all our People will be abroad , and I keep 
my Bed on purpose. — Yours entirely. 

[He speaks .] This is from a Courtesie. 

Sir Tim. And do you go, Sir Nicky? 

45 Sir Nich. Dam me not I: I sent an Excuse, 
I am not in Love with any Ladies, I only desire 
they may fall in Love with me, that’s all: 
And ’tis hard for ’em to scape my Dress, and a 
certain languishing way I have of Ogling thus. 
50 — hah ! 

Sir Tim. Very well, the Devil take [me]! 
— Gad I must learn that look. 

Sir Nich. Look you thus : 

Sir Tim. Aye, thus, thus; is that pretty 
55 well ? 

Sir Nich. You must come to my Chamber, 
and practise a Mornings at my Glass. — But 


43. Courtesie, D, Countesse. 
Si. take [me]. Q, omits me. 


Scene IJ 


®t)e Volunteers 


249 


'twill never do well with his Complexion; he is 
but a very Olive, coloured Beau. [Aside.] 

Sir Tim. I'll do't, but pray hear one of my 60 
Billets. 'Tis from Mrs. Winifred. 

Sir Nich. Who, the scornful Lady, that 
despises Fellows, as she calls us. 

Sir Tim. The same, let me perish else; she 
is desperately in Love with me: I thought 65 
indeed there was somewhat in it, she gives me 
such familiar Names, when I address to her. 

Sir Nich. Yes, Puppy and Fool, and Impu¬ 
dence, are familiar Names : Let me die. 

Sir Tim. Aye, so they are; but see what 70 
she says. 

Sir Nich. [Reads.] No Man has so great a 
share in my Heart , as Sir Timothy Kastril, and 
Til give you leave to improve it: she ends well. 

Sir Tim. Hah ! Is it not very well ? hah ! 75 

Sir Nich. Poor Sir Timothy , the Wits will 
play the Rogue with him, and Counterfeit 
Letters from all the Beauties, and he believes 
every thing; Lord, that Men shou’d be so 
conceited ! but see here's a Billet from a Beauty 80 
indeed. [Reads.] 

I was so much surprizd at the News of your 


T2, 81. [Reads], Q, D, omitted. 
77. Rogue. Q, Rogues. 


250 


)t ©olunteertf 


[Act II 


going a Volunteer, that I [swooned], and 
thought I shoud never recover it: And if you 

85 continue that Resolution, you will most cer¬ 
tainly break the Heart of, Your Admirer. 
Sir Tim. Now you shall see one of mine. 

Sir Nich. Here’s another. 

Sir Tim. Hold, here’s a very pretty one. 

90 Sir Nich. Let me see, here’s one from the 
finest Lady in the Town. 

[Ladies in Masques, crossing the Stage. 
Hold, the Ladies come, some by my Appoint¬ 
ment. 

Sir Tim. I appointed some. 

95 Sir Nich. How does my Complexion look ? 
I am afraid I have been cheated of my cold 
Cream of late. 

Sir Tim. Exceeding well, how does mine ? 
Sir Nich. I believe you are not well to day: 

100 you do not look well. 

Sir Tim. [Aside] I am not well indeed, but 
I am sure I look well: Sir Nicholas is a pretty 
Gentleman, but he is so conceited, and will 
allow no Man to look well but himself. 

105 The Ladies again : [Ladies pass over again. 

Sir Nich. They are nimble footed, and ex¬ 
pect a Chase. 


83. swooned. Q, sounded. 


Scene I] 


W$z Volunteers 


251 


Sir Tim. Let’s run, and board ’em. 

Sir Nich. I cannot run, it does so disorder 
ones Perewig, and Cravat-string, but I’ll be no 
up with you. [Sir Tim runs , and Sir Nich. 
shuffles after him. 

Enter Coll. Hackwell, Jun. and Welford, as 
Sir Nich. and Sir Tim. are going off. 

Hack. jun. Do you see who are yonder in 
pursuit of the Vizors ? My Volunteer, and a 
Bacon-fac’d Beau with him. 

Welf. I can think of nothing but thy dear 115 
sweet incomparable Sister: 

Hack. jun. You do her a great deal of 
honour, and I can think no Alliance so happy 
as yours, though you are mine already by a 
stronger tie, by that of Friendship. 120 

Welf. My Friendship to you, nothing can 
increase or lessen: but oh your Sisters Eyes; 
no Dart e’re flew so quick, or wounded yet so 
fatally : I feel ’em here. 

Hack. jun. There is no danger of that 125 
Wound, my Life for yours I’ll mould her to 
your wish. 

Welf. Such another word wou’d make me 
worship thee: I have safely gaz’d and star’d 
on other Beauties of the Town; but the first 130 

xio. Perewig. D, Perriwig. 


252 


®l)e ©olunteeta 


[Act II 


view of her, like Lightning, stroke me, were I 
not engag’d in honour this Campaigne, I wou’d 
stay and live, and dye beneath her Feet. 

Hack. jun. I with my Mistress wou’d desire 
13s to get a little higher, but I’ll tell thee, on a 
Friends Faith take it, I am not such a Fop, to 
say, tho’ I say’t, that shou’d not (For I did not 
make my Sister) she has all the Wit, Modesty, 
Discretion, good Nature, and sweet temper’d, 
140 which a Woman can be capable of, and her 
beauty is the least Valuable of any quality 
she has. 

Welf. Her beauty is beyond all other 
Ladies, you see but with a Brothers Eye, I 
145 with a Lovers, but thou describest an Angel; 
I know she might be all that’s Excellent. 

Hack. jun. Now Freind thou’l pity me, who 
am in Love even to desperation : I have told 
thee I have written to her several times without 
150 an Answer, and if I meet her here or any 
where, I can find no Return, but cold Indiffer¬ 
ent Civility; Oh Freind she has all the Excel¬ 
lencies that Heav’n e’re gave, or Mortal 
cou’d receive. 


131. stroke. D, struck. 

139. temper'd. D, Temper. 
147. thou’l. D, thou’lt. 


Scene _I] 


©olutttm* 


253 


Welf. My Dear Freind, if she be what thou 155 
describest, she must, she cannot but Love so 
brave a fellow; now my dear Tom our Condi¬ 
tions as well as tempers suit to bind us fast 
to one another. 

Hack. jun. Which tye, no time, . Misfor-160 
tunes, or Accident but Death can break; I 
wonder my fair one is not here: Among ten 
Thousand I can ne’re mistake her, she kills 
at distance. My Sister will certainly be 
with her, they are the dearest Freinds in the 165 
world, and always together when they can. 

Welf. Something methinks within me, fore¬ 
tells I shall be happy. 

Hack. jun. Doubt it not, thou art brave 
and vertuous, and deserv’st all thou canst 170 
aim at. 

Enter Major General Blunt. 

M. G. Bl. So, so, go on, a dod I love to see 
two Gallant Fellows embracing; Tis hearty 
and in earnest: but by the Lord Harry , a 
Coward cannot be a Freind. 175 

Hack. jun. We need no greater honour, 
than your good opinion. 

M. G. Bl. Prithee no Complements, but do 
you know young fellow that your Sister is 


254 


3Hje ©olunteertf 


[Act II 


iSoeven now turn’d out of doors, by thy most 
Confounded Mother in Law, and is fled to me 
for Protection, and she has chosen me for her 
Guardian ? 

Hack. jun. Had I the Treasure of the Indies , 
1851 wou’d trust them all with you, and I will 
say, she is a Treasure. 

M. G. Bl. A dod she is the fairest and best 
of all her Sex, and I will take more care of her 
then of a Daughter. 

190 Welf. You are a Man of honour Sir, and ’tis 
fit I let you know I am most Infinitly in 
love with her. 

M. G. Bl. By my Troth I think thou art 
in the right on’t, ’twill be an Excellent Match. 
195 I’ll advance it all I can. 

Welf. I dye for her. 

M. G. Bl. If I were a young fellow, I wou’d 
not die for her, but I wou’d live for her, A dod 
I wou’d, I tell thee, that I never knew a Valiant 
200 fellow, but he was Amourous and Compassion¬ 
ate, nor a Coward, but he was Cruel and Lustful. 

Hack. jun. | Your Observations are always just. 

M. G. Bl. But come on young Springal, 
hast thou nere a Mistress, speak, A dod thou 
205 art in love too, hah! A dod thou art. 

189. then. D, than. 


Scene I] 


®t )t Volunteers 


2 55 


Hack. jun. I am not Considerable enough. 

M. G. Bl. Pish! pox thou talkest like a 
Gentleman Usher, with White Gloves, Pearl 
Colour’d silk Stockings, and a Nose-gay; I 
am not Considerable enough! by the Lord 210 
Harry , thou knowest thy worth better. 

Hack. jun. When I have ought fit for dis¬ 
covery, you shall be Master of it. 

M. G. BL Come, come, A dod thou must 
have a Mistress; and I warrant if one knew all, 215 
thou hast a pretty way of inditing a Billet. 

Hack. jun. [Aside.] Death, has he dis¬ 
cover’d ought ? this is a nice point, If I Pre¬ 
varicate with him, he’ll think me a dissembling 
Knave, and hate me. 220 

M. G. Bl. I see it startles him- [Aside. 

Blush not my brave Stripling to be in Love, 

’tis a Manly Passion, and none but beasts, or 
beastly fellows are without it. 

Welf. By Heav’n spoken like an Oracle. 225 

M. G. Bl. I warrant this Young Fellow 
knows all; but none of you will trust us Old 
Fellows, with such secrets. 

Enter Teresia, Winifred, Sir Nichlas, and Sir Timothy. 

But who are coming this way ? Upon my 
life two brace of such Fops; as I’ll be your230 

212. ought. D, thought. 


256 


®t)E ffiOluntEEES 


[Act II 


bond-slave, if the whole Mall affords the like, 
and a Daughter of mine is one of ’em. Let us 
step aside. 

Welf. Tis the featest finical fellow, I ever 
235 saw. 

M. G. Bl. A dod he is a thing, and not a 
man, methinks we shou’d not call him he: 
but it. 

Teres, [to Sir Nich\. Does your Cruel resolu- 
24 otion hold, to go to the War! O Lord; what 
shou’d you do there! Let me dye so fine a 
Person shou’d not be ventur’d. 

Sir Nich. Do you hear Sir Timothy - 

[Kicks Sir Timothy on the Shins , he rubs 'em. 
Honour Madam, Honour must be obey’d. 

24s Teres. And Gentle Love be laid aside ? 
You will break many Ladies hearts. 

Sir Nich. No, no, Madam, I, alas, alas, I’m 
but an Ordinary fellow: But I cannot help it. 

Teres. Oh. Cruel man, Can you leave me ? 

[Sir Nich. kicks Sir Tim. on the Shines. 
250 Sir Tim. Ounds ! he has broke my Shins. 

Teres. One that loves you more than life; 
let me dye, I never said so much before: Lord 
how I blush! 

Sir Nich. Me! no, no, Madam; You Rally, 
25s well may I perish. 



Scene I] 


Volunteer* 


257 


Win. Let me dye if you talk, and walk with 
fellows thus, I’ll say’t I must leave you; Oh 
Lord ! what will become of my Reputation ? 
What an Impertinent Puppy, you are; I 
wou’d not be observ’d to talk with such a 260 
fellow: 

Sir Tim. I’ll wait on you in private, sweet 
Madam. 

Win. I’ll have you kick’d out of doors in 
publick then, stinking fellow: ’Tis fine indeed, 265 
such a fellow as you pretend to me. 

Sir Tim. Ha ! what have I done ?- [Aside. 

Did not you receive an answer to your Billet, 
Madam ? 

Win. Oh Lord, what means the Ass ? 270 

Sir Tim. Oh Madam, I understand you; 

I’ll take no notice before Company; Let me 
kiss your sweet hand : 

She gives him a slap on the Chaps. 

Win. Begone you sawcy Oafe, these fellows 
grow Impudent, if you don’t keep them under, 275 
but come my dear, or I’ll leave you here, oh 
Lord I talk with fellows. 

Sir Tim. Ah, ’tis a dessembling Toad; I 
see now she loves me. 

Teres. Adieu, we must see you at Din-280 
ner. 



258 ©oltmtm* [actii 

Sir Nich. Aye, Madam. — I’ll drop this Bil¬ 
let. [Aside.] 

[He drops a Billet out of his Handkerchief , 

Teresia takes it up. 

Teres. What has he dropt ? Let me see — 
285 Let me dye. Its a Billet Doux, Oh I could 
tear her heart out that writ it. 

Win. Come, come. What ugly awkward 
fellows are these, to my dear heart, my sweet 
Mr. Hop. [Exit Teresia and Winifred. 

290 Sir Nich. You have kissed your Mistress 
hands by way of a slap of the Chaps. 

Sir Tim. ’Twas welcome, I know the Rogue 
Loves me. 

Sir Nich. Oh dear Freind thou mistakest, 
295 I love this Lady best of any, but thou shouldst 
never let a Lady believe thou lovest her, but 
love and admire thy self; Damme that’s the 
only way; they’ll be stark mad for thee then. 

Sir Tim. Ha I’ll consider on’t, ha ! I admire 
300 my self more than any man. 

Sir Nich. Oh, here is my Guardian that was, 
and my Collonel that is to be: My noble 
Guardian good morning, and joy of your 
Birth-day : Sir I kiss your hands. 

305 M. G. Bl. [Thank ye,] my noble Pupil; 

291. Chaps. D, chops. 305. [ Thank ye,]. Q, Thankeye. 


Scene I] 


Volunteers; 


259 


you are the Flower of Civility I’ll swear. 

[Mimicks Sir Nich. Speech and Motion. 

Sir Tim. Sir, your most obedient Servant. 

M. G. Bl. How dost thou do Knight, You 
and your Freind Dine with me to day. 

Sir Nich. The General tells me I shall have 3 i 0 
the honour to Charge under you: And says 
you will shew me Play. 

Hack. jun. The General does me honour, 
but he shall always find I will be in Earnest. 

Sir Nich. This Sir, Is that noble Person I 3IS 
suppose, who is a Brother Volunteer. 

Hack. jun. It is Sir. 

Sir Nich. I have been twice at your Lodg¬ 
ing to kiss your hands and beg the honour of 
your Acquaintance. 320 

Welf. You oblige me Sir, And I shou’d be 
glad to know where to return your Visit. 

Sir Nich. I am in St. James' Square , but you 
must know Sir, we Young Gentlemen of the 
Town, are so taken up, either with Ladies with 325 
us in a morning, or receiving and answering 
Billets Doux, that it is Improper to have Visits 
from men at that time; and in the afternoon 
we are always hurrying up, and down to the 
playes, Park, Musick meeting and the like. 330 

Welf. Then I can never repay your favour. 


26o 


®l)f ©olunteers 


[Act II 


Sir Nich. Sir, I am every day before dinner, 
and a while after dinner, at the Wits Coffee¬ 
house, and I shall be glad to wait on you, and 
335 either Dine or Sup. * 

Welf. Where is that Sir ? 

Sir Nich. What Sir, never hear of the Wits 
Coffee house? 

M. G. Bl. How the Devil shou’d any man 
340 know the Wits Coffee house. A dod every 
Man thinks himself a Wit. 

Sir Nich. Why Sir, there is but one. 

M. G. Bl. What is that ? The Wit Office ? 

Sir Tim. Yes Sir, we judge of it, it must 
345 pass our Censures. 

Sir Nich. Or [Dam me] ’tis no wit, let me 
tell you that. 

M. G. Bl. Are they such wits as you Two ? 

Sir Tim. Oh Sir, there are great wits be- 
350 sides us Two. 

Sir Nich. And we carry all the Town be¬ 
fore us, but I beseech you, [Colonel] when are 
we to go for Flanders ? 

Hack. jun. As soon as the weather breaks, 
355 and a fair wind presents. My Regiment is 
Compleat and ready, at an hours warning. 

346. [Dan1 me]. Q, Damnee. 

352. [Colonel]. Q, Coll, [et o/.J 


Scene I] 


Wqt ©ol rnttm 


261 


Sir Nich. Dammee, what shall I do ? I 
must make great haste, I shall ne’re get my 
points and laces done up time enough. 

M. G. Bl. Ounds! What say’st young 360 
Fellow, Points and Laces for Camps ? 

Sir Nich. Yes, Points and Laces; why I 
carry two Laundresses on purpose: Damme, 
would you have a Gentleman go undress’d in 
a Camp ? Do you think I wou’d see a Camp, 36s 
if there we[re] no dressing ? Why, I have two 
Campaigne Suits, one trimmed with Flanders- 
Lace, and the other with rich Point. 

M. G. BL Campaign Suits with Lace and 
Point; ha, ha, ha, go thy ways, A dod there is 370 
not thy Fellow. 

Sir Nich. Pshaw good Guardian, you are for 
your old fashion’d slovenly War, War’s another 
thing now; we must live well in a Camp, that’s 
our business. 37s 

M. G. Bl. Live well, A dod you must fight 
well, that was our business. 

Sir Nich. Pray [Colonel] can you tell me 
where I may have one that understands the 
Blanc Manger well ? I have a Cook that’s 380 
excellent at Roasting, Stewing, Baking, Boyl- 
ing, Biskes, Olio’s, Ragousts and Fricasees. 

366. we[re\. Q, we. 


262 


>e ©olunteew 


[Act II 


M. G. Bl. Biskes, Olio's, Ragousts, and 
Fricasees, Blanc Manger, ha, ha, ha, Mon- 

385 strum horrendum. 

Sir Nich. Let him alone Sir; I know you 
were brave, but the Customs of the World 
alter; Sir, I carry as good a Confectioner as 
any in England , Ovens, and all Utensils. 

39 o M. G. Bl. Confectioner, ha, ha, ha : By the 
Lord Harry , thou art fit for nothing but Sugar 
Plums still; did Cato ever dream of Confec¬ 
tioners, and blanc Manger ? 

Sir Nich. I carry all Garden Seeds. 

395 Hack. jun. For what, Sir? 

Sir Nich. I bought 'em when I thought of 
going to Sea, to have Sallets growing in Boxes ; 
And now 'tis their business to lye in Camps a 
good while : I will have every day fresh Sallets. 

400 M. G. Bl. Ha, ha, ha, Collonel, hold me, A 
dod I shall drop down with Laughing, fresh 
Sallets, Ounds, how wilt thou get fresh Sallets 
for thy Horses ? Forrage, Forrage, young 
Fellow. 

Enter Sir Nicholas’/ Foot-many and gives him a Billet. 

405 Welf. Though we have a Multitude of lux¬ 
urious Fops, this Fellow will out-shine Twenty 
of 'em. 


Scene I] 


)t Volunteers 


263 


Hack. jun. A Pox on him, Iil not be 
troubled with him, I will beg the Favour 
of the General, to pick him out a Beau Col- 410 
lonel. 

Sir Nick. Why look ye now Sir, here’s a 
Billet Doux, I must be gone Sir, at my good 
Guardians we will Consult about my Equi¬ 
page. 41s 

[Ex. Sir Nich. 

M. G. Bl. Well, Knight, dost not thou go 
to the War ? 

Sir Tim. I, no I thank you, if I do, I’ll give 
’em leave to ram me into a Cannon, and shoot 
me out at a Stone Wall: No, thank Heav’n, I 420 
am well enough here with the Ladies. 

Hack. jun. What would become of your 
Country, if every Man were of your Opinion ? 

Sir Tim. Pugh, There are Magnaminious 
Fellows enough that love Roaring, Rattling 425 
Gun-powder, and Cannon, what a Devil need 
I go ? I have a good Estate, and can pay those 
Fellows. 

M. G. Bl. How should Gentlemen get 
honour Boy, ha! 430 

Sir Tim. Damme, let them look to that; I 
have a Title, and am a Knight already. 

424. Magnaminious. D. Magnanimous. 


264 




[Act II 


M. G. Bl. Look thee young Fellow; if I 
were a desertless Coxcomb, such as thou maist 
435 be, and had shewn no Vertue in the World, I 
had as lieve be burnt in the Hand, as be 
Knighted. 

Hack. jun. What makes you such an Enemy 
to this War ? are you a Jacobite ? 

440 Sir Tim. No Gad, not I, nor a Williamite 
neither; ’tis all one to me who Reigns, if I can 
keep my 2000 Pound a Year, and enjoy my self 
with the Ladies: Look you Gentlemen, I dare 
do as much as any Man that wears a Head; 
445 but War does not agree with me, I was so 
troubled with the Chin-Cough when I was a 
Child, Gad, I never recovered it, and am so 
subject to catch Cold ever since; and so 
troubled with the Tooth-ach, I wou’d not for 
450 any Money lie out of my own, unless it be in a 
Ladies Bed : Then I had the Rickets when I 
was a Boy, that made me somewhat weakly! 

Hack. jun. Weakly! That’s as bad for a 
Ladies Man, as a Soldier. 

455 Sir Tim. As for Valour, I have enough for 
my occasions, but are not there idle Rascals, 
and Scoundrels enough, mercenary Rogues to 
be had out of Jayls, Streets, High-ways, Dung- 

434. maist. D, may’st. 451. Ladies. D, Lady’s [ et al.]. 


Scene i] ®t)e ©olunteers 265 

hills, that can lie cold, march, and pop off a 
Gun, what need such as I go ?— 460 

I have an Assignation, and must leave ye. 

[Exit Sir Tim. 

M. G. Bl. This Knight ought to be beaten, 
for talking thus of Soldiers. I was resolv’d to 
have these Puppies to laugh at, ’tis some 
variety of Entertainment: Ha! Tom. yonders46s 
thy Father; he has four or five with him; they 
look as if they were very full of Revelation; 
not honest, but Godly Men; farewel till two, 
pray if you see my Daughter, do you Squire 
her. [Exit. M. G. Bl. 470 

Enter Eugenia and Clara. 

Welf. See who comes here, and how she 
shines; and as she passes, guilds the Mall. 

Hack. jun. Madam, your most humble 
Servant, your f ather commanded me to wait 
you in the Mall, and walk instead of him. 47s 

Eugen. I never disobey my Father. 

Clara. Brother, your Servant, my sweet 
Step-Mother has routed me as well as you. 

Hack. jun. I heard so: This Ladies Father 
told me. Sister, this is my Friend, whom you 480 
have heard me speak of so often, Mr. Welford. 

474, 475. wait you. D, wait on you. 


[Act II 


266 )t Volunteer* 

Let me recommend him to you, pray use him 
as my Friend. 

Welf. The humblest of your Servants, 
485 Madam. 

Hack. jun. to Eugenia. Your Father es¬ 
teems this Gentleman very much. 

Eugen. My Father speaks the Language of 
the World. 

490 Welf. He honours me to much, Madam. 

Hack. jun. Will you give us leave to gallant 
you, and protect you from Beau’s ? I trust that 
Gentleman with my Sister, and my noble 
Friend, your Father, has commanded me to 
49s wait on you. 

Eugen. With all my Heart; for a Sheep 
cannot be more afraid of a Wolf, than I am 
of the Conversations of those vain Fops. 

Clara. If one talk with common Civility 
500 to one of ’em, he’ll swear next turn, he has had 
a Billet from her; besides their Discourse is 
most upon the worst of Subjects them¬ 
selves. 

Eugen. They are always admiring them- 
5°5 selves, than which, nothi[n]g can be more 
Nauseous. 

Hack. jun. True Madam, when-ever any 

505. nothi[n]g. Q, nothixg (misprint). 


Scene i] ®t )t Volunteers? 267 

one is found out to admire himself, the rest of 
the World will contemn him: 

Welf. And yet ’tis a prudent Contrivance 510 
of Natu[r]e, to make Man over-value himself. 

Clara. The greatest part of the World, 
which are desertless Fops, would live very 
miserably else. 

JVelf. That Tetter, Madam, spreads very sis 
far, and I shall show you that I have a great 
share of it, when I have the Confidence to tell 
you I love you Madam; love you infinitely 
beyond what all Mankind call dear and pre¬ 
cious : The wound you gave was sudden, but 520 
’tis deadly; Here sticks the fatal dart. 

Eugen. Nay, If they be at Love matters, 

’tis uncivil to be within hearing, let’s with¬ 
draw some paces. 

Clara. This Sir, is such a suddain gust, it 52s 
is enough to over-set my little Bark. 

Welf. ’Tis never to be laid, I know your 
Character, and I see your person; And ’tis 
impossible not to love ’till I am blind, or have 
no memory. 530 

Clara. You surprise me so, I know not 
what to answer. 


511. Natu[r]e. Q, Natute. 
525. suddain. D, sudden. 


268 


©oiunteersf 


[Act II 


Welf. You surpriz’d me so, that you have 
absolute possession of my heart, where the 
535 impression ne’re can be defac’d. 

Clara. I have too small an opinion of my 
own deserts, to be easie of belief; I know not 
well how I should take this discourse at the 
first meeting; methinks it looks like Battle 
540 more than Courtship. 

Welf. Alas, how small a portion of Life is 
allotted to poor love, yet most of that is flung 
away in Ceremony. 

Clara. I am not prepar’d for this kind of 
545 Conversation; but you are my Brother’s 
Friend, and I can bear. 

Eugen. I have done well to with-draw from 
the danger of hearing Love there, and brought 
it upon my self here. 

550 Hack. jun. Your Father is generous and 
compassionate; and sure with that great stock 
of your own, you must inherit all his Vertues. 

Eugen. Cou’d you think that your Bills 
were to be answered at sight, like Bills of Ex- 
555 change? — What a damp is this talk of Love to 
Conversation; it puts a stop to all common 
Sence presently. 

Hack. jun. It is the end of all common 
Sence; and all that art and industry, hazard 


Scene I] 


t ©olunteet# 


269 


and toyl can aim at is Love and Beauty, but 560 
alas, ’tis Impudence in me to offer Love to 
you, I am disown’d, an out-cast, with no other 
Fortune but this Sword. 

Eugen. I hope you measure not mj 
Thoughts so meanly, to think that considera-565 
tion can weigh with me; your merits are equal 
to any man’s; but I have no will, my Father 
has it in his keeping. 

Hack. jun. Divinest Creature! Shall I 
have your leave to make my address if I can 570 
procure his ? 

Eugen. I have said too much already; 
come Clara , let’s walk, let’s not be private in a 
publick place. 

Clara [Aside.] I had peace of mind before; 575 
why should I see this man ? 

Eugen. Unequal custom, that shou’d thus 
impose upon our Sex, the worst of tasks, 
Dissembling. 

Clara. Pray let us walk; my tender 580 
Mother-in-law, is just at the back of us. 

[Ex. Hack. jun. Welf. Eugen. and Clara. 

Enter Mrs. Hackwel, Nickum and Lettice. 

Mrs. Hack. ’Tis most delicate Weather; 
the Sun shines as it were Easter- Day. 


2JO 


®lje ©oluntms 


[Act II 


Nick. It does so; but ’tis very cold; Gad 
585 I long for some exercise; I hate a damn’d Beau; 
I han’t kickt a Beau this Week. 

Lett. He hates ’em for having clean Linnen, 
which he was never us’d to, till my Lady 
furnish’d him, the more shame for her. 

590 Mrs. Hack. I’ll swear if you talk so mag¬ 
nanimously, you’ll fright me strangely; I shall 
fall into a fit for you. 

Nick. I beseech you Madam, let me but 
kick one Beau and I’ll be satisfied. 

595 Lett. Would I could see it. 

Mrs. Hack. Lord, you are so exorbitantly 
valiant, restrain your Courage I beseech you : 
besides, this is within the verge of the Court, 
and if you kick here, you’ll lose your foot, I 
600 can assure you, 

Nick. Nay gad, th at I would not neither; for I 
have often occasion for my Feet to kick Fellows. 

Lett. [Aside.] I believe you have oftner occa¬ 
sion to run away with them. 

605 Nick. Faith I kickt a Knight, last night, up 
and down like a Foot-ball; nay, I have kickt 
a Lord in my time. 

Mrs. Hack. Dear Cousin, you are the most 
fiery Person; I shall be in a perpetual fright 
610 for you. 


Scene I] 


Wfyt Volunteer* 


271 


Nick. Ods my life, yonder’s that Scoun¬ 
drel Welford , let me but go and whisper him, 
and take him out of the Park, and in the 
twinkling of an Eye, I’ll whip him through the 
Lungs, and kiss your hands again. 615 

Mrs. Hack. Ye shall not stir, I’ll hang 
upon you. 

Lett. You may let him go, I warrant him, 
he’ll not stir for that. 

Mrs. Hack. Go, I won’t love you now. 620 

Lett. Must the poor Collonel, and his sweet 
Sister, the best Creatures that e’er were born, 
be turn’d out of the House for this Rascal, 
that’s the main reason; but I’ll bring it home 
upon the infamous Couple one day. [Aside. 625 

Enter M. G. Blunt, Coll. Hackwell, Sen. and after 
three or four Fellows in cropt Hair and Bands. 

M. G. Bl. Come my honest Round-head, I 
had rather meet thee here than at Marston- 
Moore. 

Hack. sen. In that great Day, we did not do 
the work negligently, verily, we stood to the 630 
Faith. 

M. G. Bl. A dod you drub’d us to purpose; 
but make haste and follow me; ’twill be Din¬ 
ner-Time : Madam, your Servant, you’ll come ? 


272 


)t Volunteers 


[Act II 


63s Mrs. Hack. Yes Sir, and bring my Kinsman. 

M. G. Bl. He shall be Wellcome; the Col- 
lonels Son and Daughter, with whom I hear 
y’are both fall’n out, will be there; but pray for 
my sake let it be mirth and jollity this day. 

640 Mrs. Hack. Lord Sir, I have the least ill 
humour in the World; but if I shou’d be dis¬ 
pleas’d, I have too much breeding to trouble 
the Company with it. [Ex. M. G. Bl. 

Hack. sen. No Lamb, I’ll say that for thee; 

645 thou art a dear Lamb. 

Nick. Well said, my pious Cuckold. 

Hack. sen. Well, have ye been enquiring ? 
What Patents are they sollicking for, and 
what Stocks to dispose of. 

650 1. Jobber. Why in Truth there is one thing 

liketh me well, it will go all over England. 

Mrs. Hack. What’s that, I am resolv’d to 
be in it Husband. 

1. Jobber. Why it is a Mouse-Trap, that 

65s will invite all Mice in, nay Rats too, whether 
they will or no; a whole share, before the 
Patent, is fifteen Pound; after the Patent, 
they will not take sixty: there is no Family 
in England will be without ’em. 

660 2. Jobber. I take it to be a great Under¬ 

taking : but there is a Patent likewise on foot 


Scene I] 


ie ©oluntmtf 


273 


for one walking under Water, a share twenty 
Pound. 

Mrs. Hack. That wou’d have been of great 
use to carry Messages under the Ice this last 665 
Frost, before it would bear. 

Hack. sen. Look thee Lamb, between us, 

Its no matter whether it turns to use or not; 
the main end, verily, is to turn the Penny in 
the way of Stock-Jobbing, that’s all. 670 

1. Jobber. There is likewise one who will 
undertake to kill all Fleas, in all the Families in 
England , provided he hath a Patent, and that 
none may kill a Flea but himself. 

2. Jobber. There is likewise a Patent moved 675 

for, of bringing some Chinese Rope-Dan¬ 
cers over, the most exquisite in the World; 
considerable men have shares in it: but 
verily I question whether this be lawful or 
not ? 680 

Hack. sen. Look thee Brother, if it be to a 
good end, and that we our selves have no share 
in the vanity or wicked diversion thereof, by 
beholding of it, but only use it whereby we may 
turn the Penny, and employ it for Edification, 685 
alway considered that it is like to take, and the 
said Shares will sell well; and then we shall 

686 . alway. D, always. 


[Act II 


274 ©olunteew 

not care, whether the aforesaid Dancers come 
over or no. 

690 2. Jobber. There is another Patent in Agi¬ 

tation for Flying; a great Vertuoso under¬ 
takes to out-fly any Post-Horse five Mile an 
hour; very good for Expresses and Intelligence. 

Nick. May one have a share in him too ? 

69s 2. Jobber. Thou mayst. 

Nick. These Stock-Jobbing Rogues, are 
worse than us Sharpers with Bars and false 
Boxes. 

Hack. sen. Look ye Brethren, hye ye in to 

700 the City, and learn what ye can; we are to 
have a Consultation at my House at Four, to 
settle Matters as to low[er]ing and [heighten¬ 
ing] of Shares: Lamb let’s away, we shall be 
too late. [Ex. Jobbers. 

705 Mrs. Hack. Do you dispatch your peremp¬ 
tory Daughter out of the House; for I have 
vow’d not to sleep under a Roof with her. 

Hack. sen. Well Lamb, it shall be as thou 
wilt have it: 

710 An Old Man to his Spouse must quit the Field , 
And after threescore Years , ’tis time to yield: 

A man may strive in vain , and keep a pother , 

If one way he cant please , he must another. 

702, 703. low[er]ing . . . [heightening]. Q, lowing . . . heightening. 


Scene IJ ITI)e UoltUltfCrS 275 

ACT III. SCENE I. M. G. B. HOUSE. 


Coll. Hackwell, fun. Welford, Sir Nich. Dainty, Sir 
Timothy Kastril, Teresia, Winifred, Eugenia, Clara, M. G. 
Blunt, with three or four Cavalier Officers, Col. Hackwell 
Sen., Mrs. Hackwell and Nickum, tffc. 

M. G. Bl. At night we are to have a Ball; 
and we our self will dance i’ Faith : And Ladies, 
in the mean time, to help out your desert, you 
shall have a little Entertainment of Musick, 
when the Minstrels have Din’d. 5 

Caval. And then a Bottle, Sir. 

M. G. BL Be it so; I hate to meet at a 
Dinner like so many Hogs at a Trough, to 
grumble, grunt, and fill our Bellies, and then 
every one a several way. IO 

Teres. Oh Lord Sir, shan’t we have a little 
chit chat, and the Tea-Table ? 

Wini. Oh Lord, we are nothing without the 
Tea Table, let me die else. 

M. G. Bl. ’Tis ready for the Women and is 
Men that live like Women; a dod your fine 
bred Men of England , as they call ’em, are all 
turn’d Women ; but by my Troth, I’ll not turn 
my back to the Pipe and Bottle after Dinner. 

Caval. There spoke an Angel. 20 


7, 8, at a dinner . D, at dinner. 


276 


Volunteers? 


[Act III 


M. G. Bl. Fear not my old Cavaliers, ac¬ 
cording to your laudable customs you shall be 
drunk, swagger and fight over all your Battles, 
from Edge-hill to Brentford; you have not for- 
25 gotten how this Gentleman, and his demure 
Psalm-singing Fellows used to drub us ? 

1. Caval. No gad, I felt ’em once to purpose. 

M. G. Bl. Ah a dod, in high crown’d Hats, 
coher’d Bands, great loose Coats, long Tucks 
30 under ’em, and Calves-Leather Boots, they 
us’d to sing a Psalm, fall on, and beat us to the 
Devil. 

Hack. sen. In that day we stood up to the 
Cause, and the Cause, the Spiritual Cause did 
35 not suffer under our Carnal Weapons, but the 
Enemy was discomfited, and lo, they used to 
flee before us. 

1. Caval . Who wou’d think such a sniveling, 
Psalm-singing Puppy, would fight. But those 
40 godly Fellows wou’d lay about ’em, as if the 
Devil were in ’em. 

Sir Nich. What a filthy slovenly Army was 
this, I warrant you not a well dress’d Man 
amongst the Round-heads. 

45 M. G. Bl. But these plain Fellows would so 
thrash your swearing, drinking fine Fellows in 

29. coller’d. D, collar’d. 


Scene I] 


®lje Wolwxttm 


277 


lac’d Coats, just such as you of the drawing 
Room and Lockets Fellows are now, and so 
strip ’em, by the Lord Harry , that after a 
Battle those Saints look’d like the Israelites so 
laden with the Egyptian Baggage. 

Hack. sen . Verily we did take the Spoil; 
and it serv’d us to turn the Penny, and ad¬ 
vanc’d the Cause thereby: we fought upon a 
Principle that carried us through. 55 

M. G. Bl. Prithee Collonel, we know thy 
Principle, ’twas not right, thou fought’st 
against Childrens Baptism, and not for Liberty, 
but who should be your Tyrant; none so 
zealous for Cromwel as thou wert then, nor 60 
such a furious Agitator and Test man, as thou 
hast been lately. 

Hack. sen. Look you Collonel, we but pro¬ 
ceeded in the way of Liberty of Worship. 

[Sfr Tim. struts and cocks , setting his Perewig 
and Cravat-string , admiring himself. 

M. G. Bl. A dod there is something more 65 
in it. This was thy Principle, Collonel, Domin¬ 
ions is founded in Grace, and the Righteous 
shall inherit the Earth ; and by the Lord Harry 
thou didst so; thou gottest Three Thousand 
Pound a Year by fighting against the Court, 70 
and I lost a Thousand by fighting for it. 


278 


Wqt Volunteers 


[Act III 


Hack. sen. [Colonel,] I beseech you be not 
prophane, swear not. 

M. G. Bl. Hold. I hear our Fiddles sound 
75 a Parley, let this Battle be over between 
us: 

1 Caval. Damn these sneaking Rogues, why 
did not we clap Bags of Gun-powder to their 
Arses, and blow ’em into the Sky: 

80 2 Caval. Because we were to beat ’em first. 

Sir Tim. Pox on’t, this way will never do; 
I have been admiring my self this half hour, 
and no Body takes notice of me; let me see, 
I’ll drop some Billets: Hah! Damme, no 
85 Body minds ’em; I am a most unfortunate 
Beau. [Drops 2 or 3 Billets. 

Eugen. See that vain Puppy dropping his 
Billets, take no notice. 

Clara. Not to save his Life. 

90 Teresia to Sir Nick. Thy Heart’s as hard as 
Rocks of Adamant: how canst thou flye to 
Camps, and leave thy mourning Mistress here 
to languish, and to die for you ? 

Sir Nick. Oh Madam, rally me no more; 
95 1 know my own Deserts and yours, there are 
some Hearts indeed will languish for me; but 
honour calls, and I must go. 

Sir Tim. What a Pox, not yet, not take up 


Scene I] 


Volunteers? 


279 


one of ’em. Ah! some Body has dropt a 
Note, a Billet there. 100 

Sir Nich. Ah ! ’Tis no matter, ’tis none of 
mine. [He pulls out a great many , and tells 
'em. 

Teres. Oh Lord! you’ll break my Heart, 

I’ll swear; How came you by so many Billets ? 

Sir Nich. Alas ! What wou’d you have one 105 
do ? If Ladies will write to one, how can one 
help it ? 

Hack. jun. Madam, ’tis easier to fix 
Quick-Silver, than you; You will not be in 
earnest. no 

Eugen. Is there not more pleasure in seeing 
them play the Fool, than being in earnest our 
selves ? 

Cla. Which perhaps may be as foolish in 
the end, as any thing they can do. ns 

Welf. I don’t know what you are Madam, 
but no Man can look on these Eyes, and not 
be in earnest. 

Sir Tim. Cods me, they are my own; I 
would not for Five Thousand Pound they had 120 
been seen, Ladies of Quality all: [To Welford. 
T[w]o of ’em from two Ladies in this Company. 

Welf. Which two ? 

122. T[w]o. Q, To. 


28 o 


)t ©oiunteers 


[Act III 


Sir Tim. I have Billets from all of ’em, 
i2s they are all in love with me: But these two 
are from that pretty Lady, and that beautiful 
Ingenious well-bred Lady, her Sister. 

Welf. Look ye Sir, I wou’d not disturb this 
Company, but I will feel whether you have 
130 Ears or no; and be well satisfi’d in it. 

Sir Tim. Ears Sir, as good Ears as any 
Man in England , and that you shall find, when 
the Musick strikes up. 

Welf. But I must find, whether they will 
135 endure lugging or no. 

Sir Tim. What the Devil do you mean ? 
Lugging Sir, I am as sound as any Man in 
England , if that be the point. 

Welf. I will try Sir, not a word to the 
140 Company, lest I lug ’em off*: This for your 
Lying Sirrah. 

Sir Tim. Upon my Honour Sir. 

Welf. Peace Rascal, or I shall cut your 
Throat. 

145 Sir Tim. Damme, this is a strange uncivil 
Fellow as ever I met withal. What a Devil, 
has he no Breeding ? 

M. G. Bl. Come, come, enter Musick. 

[Enter Musick , they play and sing. 

146. withal. D,with; 


Scene I] 


Volunteers? 


281 


Sir Nich. Ah, that’s fine, that’s Chromatick, 

I love Chromatick Musick mightily. 150 

Sir Tim. Ah that Fuge! That Fuge’s finely 
taken. 

Sir Nich. And bacely carried on. 

Sir Tim. All Italian Sir, all Italian. 

Nickum to Mrs. Hack. I hate those two 15s 
damn’d Fellows, I shall never be at rest, till 
I kick a Beau. 

Mrs. Hack. You put me in such fear, you 
bring my Heart to my Mouth : 

Sir Nich. What did that Fellow say, he 160 
wou’d kick a Beau; I am a Beau : And though 
unworthy, I shall take the Quarrel upon me in 
behalf of my Brother Beau’s : And if you please 
to withdraw, and make use of a Friend, I’ll 
bring one with me shall be witness of your 165 
kicking, if you please to Put your Foot to that 
trouble. 

Nickum. I shall take a time to send to you. 

Sir Nich. Let it be suddenly, or I shall be 
impatient. I 7 © 

M. G. Bl. Come, now the Musick’s over; 
my old Soldiers, stand to your Arms, your 
Pipes and Bottles, shew ’em to my Military 

152. taken. D, taking! 

153. bacely. D, rarely. 


282 


(Tt)f ©olunteers 


[Act III 


Room : You Collonel, and your Friend here, to 
175 a sober Pipe by your selves, your Lady with 
the Women to their Tea and Cards, or what 
they will. 

Hack. sen. No Collonel, My Lamb takes a 
digestive Pipe after Dinner with me, every day. 
180 Mrs. Hack. Good lack Mr. Hackwell , why 
will you say so ? 

Enter a Fellezv, with Patterns of Fringes and Embroidery. 

Sir Nick. Ah Ladies ! I beseech you before 
you retire, let me have all your Judgments 
upon some Fringe and Embroidery, which Fm 
185 to use about my Tent. 

M. G. Bl. Nay, faith Collonel, now stay a 
little, let us hear this Scene : what is this about 
your Tent ? 

Sir Nich. This Fringe and Embroidery is for 
190 my Velvet Bed, and Counterpane in my Tent. 

Teres. Let me dye, I never saw any thing 
so fine. 

Winif. ’Tis exceeding Noble. 

Hack. sen. ’Tis most amazing. 

195 Sir Nich. The Hanging of my Tent is all 
Atlasses, the outside is Damask. 

Hack. sen. Most astonishing! What keep- 
eth out the Water ? 


Scene I] 


®fje Wolunttm 


283 


Sir Nich. Oh! It is prepared by the 
Dippers, and they turn it into Drab-deberry. 

M. G. Bl. Have you not a Note of what 
you carry into the Campaign ? pray let us see. 

Sir Nich. I have one, — Come let us see. 

Eight Waggons; one for my two Butlers, 
my Service of Plate and Table Linnen; one 
for my two Cooks and Kitchin; one for my 
Confectioner, one for my Laundresses and 
Dairy Maids, with all their Utensils. 

Hack. sen. Confectioners and Dairy- 
Maids ! for what use, I beseech you, Sir ? 

Sir Nich. For Creams, fresh Butter, and 
Desert: I suppose we shall not want black Cattle, 
Collonel, one for my Wardrobe, great and small, 
Valet de Chambres, and Upholsterers. 

Hack. sen. How Sir, A Waggon Load of 
Cloaths! We in our Army us’d to fight with 
one Suit apiece. 

Sir Nich. Your Army Sir: — I have 12 
rich Campaign Suits, six Dancing Suits, and 
12 pair of Dancing Shooes. 

M. G. Bl. What sai’st thou to this, Collonel ? 

Hack. sen. Most intollerable, this worketh 
in me great Amazement. 


200 

205 

210 

215 

220 


200. Drab-deberry. D, Drabduberry. 2x8, 220. 12. D, twelve. 
2i2. Desert D, Disart. 220. Shooes. D, shoes. 


284 


Wolmttzt# 


[Act III 


Sir Nich. May be you wonder at this ! but 
225when-ever we take a Town, I am resolved to 
invite the Ladies to a Ball. 

The rest of the Waggons are for all sorts of 
Wines and Drinks; I carry Fifty Horse, and 
25 Carters, Mowers, Reapers, Grooms, and 
230 two Gardiners. 

Hack. sen. In truth this savoureth much 
of Bedlam; behold I am filled with Wonder. 

Teres. The finest Gentleman sure that e’re 
the Sun shin’d upon. 

235 Wini. The Gentleman indeed seems to be 
very much a Gentleman. 

Eugen. And is this very choice Coxcomb 
to be your Volunteer ? 

Hack. jun. The General has ordered him 
240 upon me, but I hope to get rid of the Burden. 

Clara. Sure, the whole Army will not afford 
so compleat a Fop; 

Welf. Nor so contemptible a one; as a 
little time will shew him. 

24s Sir Nich. I shall have the Honour to serve 
under your Son, Sir, but my Collonel, there’s 
one thing we shall be miserably put to for; 
have you no way to come at it ? 

Hack. jun. What’s that Sir f 

229. 25. D, twenty five. 


Scene u t Wolrntma 285 

Sir Nich. ’Tis Ice; there will be no Drink- 250 
ing without Ice. 

Hack. sen. Most Prodigious, and incredible. 

Hack. jun. There are Ice Houses in France. 

Sir Nich. Then I am resolv’d, one of the 
first Actions I shew my Valour in shall be in 255 
storming of an Ice House. 

M. G. Bl. A dod, go thy ways Boy; If any 
Guardian in England shews such an Excellent, 
such a finished Fop, for his [Ward] as I have 
of thee, I’ll be Crucified. 260 

SiriWc/t. Ah noble Guardian ! I know your 
humour, you’re for your old fashion’d Breed¬ 
ing : but you’ll never perswade the Ladies to 
be of your Opinion : Ladies, how did you like 
my Fringes and Embroidery? 265 

Teres. Let me die, they’re the sweetest 
things that e’re I saw. 

M. G. Bl. A dod, these two Fops like Tallies, 
meet in every point. 

Sir Nich. to Teresia. Will your Ladyship 270 
please to take any SnufF? ’Tis Right pongy 
bongy. [Gives her snuff with a Billet. 

Teres. With all my heart, Oh Lord ! What’s 
here ? a Billet. [Reads\ If you’l let me have 
the favour of your Conversation this Afternoon , 275 

259. [Ward]. Q, word. 


286 


©oiunteettf 


[Act III 


our People will be abroad: And Til keep my 
Bed on purpose — Mercy on me, What do I see ? 

[Drops the Billet and faints away. 

Sir Nich. Ah, Look to the Lady. 

M. G. Bl. What a pox, has he poyson’d my 
280 daughter? [He takes up the Billet. 

Sir Nich. True pongy bongy upon my 
Honour. 

Mrs. Hack. Carry her in, Carry her in; 
she’s falling into a Fit. 

[The Ladies are about her and carry her off. 
285 Sir Nich. Do you see Sir Timothy ? 

[Kicks him on the shins. 

Sir Tim. Ay, and feel too, but a pox on’t, 
they take no notice of me, and I am as good a 
Beau; and as much a Gentleman. 

M. G. Bl. This is a Billet written by this 
290 Coxc[o]mb himself; a dod I must look to this 
Business, ’twill go to[o] far else. Go young fel¬ 
lows, retire with the Women, this fit will be 
over presently: [Colonel] a word with you; 
and Tom , do thou stay. 

[Exeunt all but M. G. Blunt, Hack. sen. and 

Hack. jun. 

29s M. G. Bl. I must have a word or two with 

290. Coxc[o]mb. Q, coxchmb. 

291. to[o], Q, to. 


Scene I] 


Volunteer* 


287 


thee, about that young fellow, thy Son: He’s 
a gallant fellow, and the World speaks well of 
him, and you can have nothing to object against 
him. 

Hack. jun. A Son that would give all the 300 
world to have your favour, Sir. 

Hack. sen. Lookee, [Colonel] I may have no 
Communication of this kind with you. And 
for thee, thou hast liv’d in continual Rebellion 
with me; Thou didst run away from me at 305 
Nine years old, to be Christen’d, as thou 
call’st it. 

M. G. Bl. By the Lord Harry , that was 
something hard; but it was but a trick of 
youth. 310 

Hack. sen. Besides, thou hast seperated 
from the Congregation ever since. 

M. G. Bl. And what ? Art thou for Per¬ 
secution ? Dost thou make Heaven so narrow- 
hearted to own a Party only ? To hurt a man 31s 
for not being of my Opinion, is of the Devil; 
Why art not angry with me for having black 
Eye-brows ? Why, thy Wife is not of thy 
Congregation neither. 

Hack. sen. That was an Agreement before 320 


302. Lookee. D, Look ye, [et al.]. 
311. seperated. D, separated. 


288 


Qtt ir ©oluntfrrs 


[Act III 


Marriage; And she number’d down the Pounds 
that purchas’d that liberty. 

M. G. Bl. The Righteous will do any thing 
for money. 

325 Hack. sen. Besides, he has offended my 
Lamb; And I have engaged unto her. 

[Mrs. Hackwell peeps in with a Pipe in her mouth. 

Mrs. Hack. God forgive me Mr. Hackwell! 
Art thou talking with that insolent Fellow 
thy Son ? 

330 M. G. Bl. A Dad, Madam, no man dares 
say that: He is a Fellow of Honour. 

Mrs. Hack. He Honour! Come come, 
Mr. Hackwell: Why do you listen to such 
discourses ? 

335 Hack. sen. I come Lamb, I come. 

[Exeunt Hack. sen. and Mrs. Hack. 

M. G. Bl. Go thy ways, thou wert a pretty 
Fellow, to Rebel all thy lifetime against 
Princes; And trail a Pike under a Smock- 
Rampant at last. 

340 Hack. jun. Did you ever know a Godly- 
man convinc’d by Argument ? 

M. G. Bl. But look thee, young Fellow, I 
wou’d do’t by Interest. 

Let me see, hah! Canst not thou think of 

345 some good Match, that we may lay down a 


Scene I] e Volunteers? 289 

Summ of Money and purchase a Settlement ? 
Hah, Tom , think a little. 

Hack. jun. What means he ? What shall 
I say ? [Aside. 

M. G. Bl. Come, by the Lord Harry , out 350 
with it, young Fellow. 

Hack. jun. Sir, I have thought, and often 
thought of a young Lady : But scorn’d the mean 
Consideration of a little Pelf; She is alone 
Reward enough for all the Toils of Heroes, 355 
and the rough Fatigues and Perils of the long¬ 
est Wars. 

M. G. Bl. Hold, Boy; this is Romantick: 
Stuff, stuff; If thou hast any mortal Passion, 
acquaint me with it. 360 

Hack. jun. I am so unworthy of her, Shame 
will not let me tell you. 

M. G. Bl. Pugh, Pox; Do not play the 
fool: wilt thou grow a Fop too ? Who is she ? 

Hack. jun. I must ask a thousand Pardons, 365 
that I have disclos’d my Passion without your 
knowledge. 

M. G. Bl. My knowledge ? Fiddle, faddle; 
Prithee why ? be Concise. 

Hack. jun. It is your Daughter, Sir. 370 

M. G. Bl. Hah ! A Dad young Fellow, now 

346. Summ. D. Sum. 


2go 


IMuntecrs 


[Act III 


thou say*st something. By the Lord Harry, 
thou art a brave Fellow, and a Fellow of 
honour! I have taken thee into my house; 

375 And I will take thee into my family. Give me 
thy hand : A Dad, [b]oy, thou shalt have her. 

Hack. jun. Sir, upon my Knees. 

[Blunt pushes him down. 

M. G. Bl. Pox o’ this fooling: Now we shall 
have damn’d Raptures and senseless Roman- 

380 tick stuff; Prithee young fellow no more: 
I’ll break off the Match, if there be any more 
on’t: Never use more words then need. Let’s 
in, I’le try to purchase of thy old Fellow. If 
not, it shall be done. 

385 Hack. jun. Millions of thanks ! 

M. G. Bl. Why, lookee, lookee, the Fellow’s 
mad again; A dod, I had as li[e]ve be kickt as 
thankt, by the Lord Harry: No man does good 
but to please himself; — thanks, — pugh ! 

[Exeunt Amho. 

Enter Eugenia and Clara. 

390 Eugen. This is not the first Fit this Cox¬ 
comb has put my Sister into. 

Clara. You’re a pretty Gentlewoman, laugh 

376. [&]oy. Q, oy. 

382. then need. D, than needs must. 

387. li[e]ve. Q, live. 


Scene I] 


Wqt Volunteers 


291 


at your Sister. Did your Colonel never put 
you into a Fit of Love ? 

Eugen. No; but I find your Volunteer will 39s 
soon have a Command over your heart. 

Clara. Dost thou think it so tender ? I am 
sure thine’s mortgag’d to the Colonel beyond 
Redemption. 

Eugen. Who wou’d redeem a heart so well 400 
dispos’d on ? 

Clara. Very fine, you own your frailty. 

Eugen. Let’s dissemble with Mankind : 
but prithee let’s be honest one among another. 
What Sighs, what Agonies has this Volunteer 405 
rais’d in thee already ? 

Clara. Ah, too many: Yet why should I 
say too many ? Methinks the very pain is 
pleasant. 

Eugen. The very pain of Love is pleasanter 410 
than the Extasie of any other Joy. 

Clara. Thou seducest me, thou temptest 
me into this seeming Paradise; And if I 
sufFer by it, upon thy head be it. 

Eugen. Withal my heart: He’s a man of415 
honour and of sense. It cannot be. 

Clara. I tremble yet to think on’t: ’tis a 


411. Extasie. D, Ecstasie. 
4x5. Withal. D, With all. 


292 


Wt>t Volunteers; 


[Act III 


dreadful Leap we Lovers take, But we must 
adjourn this discourse: I must go and get my 
420 Things remov’d, for this Night will bring me 
under thy Father’s Roof, and within thy 
Embraces. 

Eugen. ’Tis the happiest Night of my Life : 
I shall have my Friend in my Arms, and I’ll 
425 keep her there. 

Clara. And I had rather be within those 
arms, than any ones. 

Eugen. Thou ly’st, Huswife, most wickedly. 

Clara. Why so mischief ? 

430 Eugen. Because you had rather be in Wel- 
ford’s. 

Clara. No, no, ’tis not come to that yet: 
Adieu. [Exit Clara. 

Enter Hackwell junior. 

Hack. jun. Wonder not, Madam, that I 
435 haunt you thus where ere you go: A Lover 
can no more be kept from his Mistress than a 
Shadow. 

Eugen. Now you have my Father’s leave, 
you talk of Love with Authority. 

440 Hack. jun. Had I all the Authority of the 
World, I wou’d lay’t at your Feet: But think 
not. Madam, I could be content with your 


scene i] ®lje ©olurtteet# 293 

Father’s giving me your hand, till you had first 
given me your heart. 

Eugen. You are engag’d in Courtship to 44s 
another Mistress, Honour, and that can never 
agree with tender Love. 

Hack. jun. Honour is the Out-work to Love, 
without winning one, there are no Approaches 
to the other. 45° . 

Eugen . You have courted Fame, and won 
her as a Mistress, but that contents you not: 
you marry her, and are strictly ty’d to her, that 
Love must be a poor neglected Rival. 

Hack. jun. We fight for Peace and Love, 45s 
the End and the Reward of War: For what 
but Liberty and Beauty are worth a good man’s 
Sword? I value your Favour so vastly above 
all Wealth, Power, and Honour, that I would 
quit for you my Country, and my chase of460 
Fame; but that I know [you] would despise 
me for’t. 

Eugen. Nay, think not, Sir, I’de have you 
quit so glorious a Cause as Consecrates each 
Sword that’s drawn for’t: But methinks Love-46s 
Treaties shou’d be Adjourn’d till softer times of 
Peace. 

Hack. jun. Ah, Madam, if Love did not 
sweeten the Intervals of War, and the hopes 

461. [you]. Q, youd. 


294 


me Volunteers? 


[Act III 


470 of enjoying it were not in our thoughts as the 
end of it, we should all be Cowards, and no 
Gentleman would think the World worth 
fighting for. 

Eugen. Wou’d you have me make my self 
475 so miserable, as to set my heart upon one who 
may be lost in every Rencounter or Attaque ? 

Hack. jun. Does not our Royal Mistress 
do the same and bears it with a Princely 
Magnanimity; She and our Country have the 
480 greatest Stake in Europe , who will be sure to 
hazard himself with the bravest. 

Eugen. She is to be reverenc’d and admir’d, 
but hard it is to Imitate so Glorious an Ex¬ 
ample; and methinks a private Lady may be 
485 happier. 

Hack. jun. We cannot in Gratitude pretend 
to be happier, than those from whom we have 
our Happiness; in them our Countreys Cause, 
and yours, and all’s at stake. 

490 Eugen. But Love they say is tenderer than 
all. 

Hack. jun. Would you were sensible of it, 
as I wou’d have you, but I am not so vain to 
think you e’re can have that Care for me: 
495 The World’s not worthy of it; be pleased only 

476. Attaque. D, Attack. 


Scene I] 


Volunteers 


295 


to give your Consent, to make me happy, and 
all the Endeavours of my Life hereafter shall be 
to make you so. 

[Enter M. G. Blunt, and Sir Nich. Dainty. 

Eugen. Thank Heaven I am Reliev’d, my 
Father’s here. 500 

M. G. Bl. Not so Gir[l]; go, get ye to¬ 
gether, ye pair of Turtles, and Cove in private. 
Your Love Discourse is very pretty among 
Lovers, but wou’d sound very silly and Fan- 
tastick to those who should over hear it: go, 505 
withdraw, an old Shooe after thee; win her, 
and wear her Boy. 

[Exit Hack. Jun. and Eugenia. 

Sir Nich. He’ll scarce meet Success, I’m 
sure I find by her Deportment, she is in love 
with me : [Aside. 510 

M. G. Bl. Look’e Knight, to be short with 
you, your Vanity and the Indiscretion of my 
Daughter, have made an Intrigue of Love 
betwixt ye, so smoaky, the Town takes notice 
of it. 515 

Sir Nich. Alas Sir, we never conceal those 
things. 

M. G. Bl. Then y’are Puppies; but I sup- 

501. Gir[l]. Q, Giri. 

502. Cove. D, Coo. 


ttoluntetr* 


[Act III 


296 


pose you know my Honour is so nice; that I’ll 

520 not suffer my Family to have the least blot. 

Sir Nich. If all Families should be dis¬ 
honoured, where the Ladies are in Love with 
me, there would be a great many infamous in 
this Town. 

525 M. G. Bl. Vanity of Vanities: I believe 
there is not such another Ass as my Daughter; 
but dost thou hear Knight, thou shalt not have 
the deceiving her; by the Lord Harry , I will 
cut thy Throat, if thou attempt it. 

530 Sir Nich. Lookee Guardian, I can take any 
thing from you; but what do you mean Sir, to 
treat me thus ? 

M. G. Bl. I do mean, that either the Love 
you pretend to my Fop Daughter is false; 

535 and then you are a Rascal, or true, and then if 
you make it not good, you are a Rascal too; 
and if I fail in my Revenge, I will bequeath it 
to my Executors and Administrators, by my 
Honour I will. 

540 Sir Nich. Sir, I am a Person of Honour, you 
shall ever find me Rational and Civil; but the 
Beaus do so laugh at one, if one Marries, that 
upon my Honour, that I kn[o]w not what is 
left for me to do. 


543. kn[o\w. Q, knnw. 


Scene I] 


®ije Wolunttm 


297 


M. G. Bl. Ound ! Did you mean to Whore 545 
my Daughter ? [He takes him hy the Collar. 

Sir Nich. No, no, Sir, we never bring it to 
Enjoyment, If we can make a Lady fall in Love 
with us, or fall into Fits for us, ’tis all the 
Triumph we desire. 550 

M. G. Bl. Death, Triumph! And did you 
think to Triumph over me ? 

Sir Nich. No, Sir, I have a greater Respect 
for your Family. 

M. G. Bl. In short, I will make a better 555 
settlement, than your Estate can deserve: 
Consider, no fooling; you two were design’d 
by Nature for one another. 

Sir Nich. Sir, You do me a great deal of 
Honour; I know your free discourse, but 1 560 
shall make such a return as your honourable 
proposals require. 

M. G. Bl. Farewell, I must to my Cavaliers : 
they were got but to the second Nasehy fight, 
when I left ’em. [Exit M. G. Bl. 565 

Sir Nich. What shall I do ? If I Marry, 
the Beaus will all make Horns at me; and laugh 
me out of London. Besides, I never knew one 
Marry, but the rest of ’em Cuckolded him, or 
said they did, which is as bad : but hold, it’s 57° 

545. Ound l D, Ounds! 


29 8 


?E l\)t 


[Act III 


four a Clock, I must beat this Bully. Pray 
Heaven I disappoint not my Friend. 

[Exit Sir Nich. 

Enter Nickum and Dingboy. 

Nickum. I warrant thee, Dingboy , we shall 
have the richest Caravan, the fattest Bubble. 
575 Ding. Nay, O ’my Conscience no Beau will 
fight, they dare not stir for fear of disordering 
their Perrewigs and Cravat-strings. 

Nickum. I’ll undertake, you and I might 
clear the Town of Beaux. We’l win five 
580 thousand pound of this Sir Nicholas , h[e’l]l 
bring it to a Composition-Dinner, w[e’l]l make 
him drunk and bubble him. 

Ding. Prithee let’s win ten thousand Pound 
of him, w[e’l]l win all his Equipage, and break 
585 him for a Volunteer. 

Enter Sir Nich. and Welford. 

Sir Nich. Sir, I can scarce ever hope for a 
pardon, for being so confident to desire the 
assistance of your Sword and Arm. But we 
being Brother Volunteers, made me presume. 
590 Welf. Name it no more, ’tis a Duty Gentle¬ 
men owe to one another. 

580. h[e’l]l. Q, hee’l. [et at .] 

581, 584. w[e’l]l. Q, wee’l. 


Scene I] ffrtye tMtm ttttSi 299 

Sir Nich. I am sorry I had not time to put 
on my fighting suit. 

Welf. A fighting sute ! 

Sir Nich. Yes, Sir, I have the prettiest insos 
the World, Fm never without one: A man 
ought to be drest proper for all occasions. 

Welf. This is the Choicest Fop in Christen- 
dome. 

Sir Nich. It is Scarlet slightly flourished 600 
with Silver; A Bloody Cravat; and the neat¬ 
est, best stitch’d, Beau Gloves; the finest 
light Perrewig; and the prettiest Shoes in the 
world; And the motto upon my Sword is Love 
and Honour , because Gentlemen fight for 605 
nothing else. 

Nickum. Death and Heart, who’s yonder ? 

Ding. What a Devil makes you start and 
look pale ? 

Nickum. Plague on’t, have I catch’t a 610 
Tartar? I’m afraid Welford the Volunteer is 
his Second. 

Ding. Gad forgive me, Welford! I have 
heard of him, pox on him h[e’l]l whip me 
through. 615 

Sir Nich. Ah, here they are, Are you ready 
to Kick, Sir ? Are your feet in Order ? 

594. Sute. D, Suit. 


300 


t ©olunteet# 


[Act III 


Welf. What the Devil, is this the Business ? 
Pox that Fellow’s a Coward. I am finely 
620 inveigl’d by a Fop. 

Nickum. Sir, I did not say I’d Kick, you 
mistook me, Sir; for my part I love peace 
and quietness as well as any man that wears a 
Head. 

625 Sir Nich. You lye, Sirrah, you’re a Cow¬ 
ard, Draw, you did say Kick, have at your 
Lungs. 

Ding . The Devil take me if I fight. 

[Runs away. 

Welf. What the Devil, must I have a Race ? 

[Runs after him. 

Sir Nicholas pushes , Nickum runs back y falls upon his 
Breech, and drops his Sword. 

630 Sir Nich. You cowardly Rascal, do you 
think an old sham trick of falling upon your 
Breech and dropping your Sword shall pass 
upon me ? Here take your Sword, and fight, 
Sirrah. 

635 Nickum. Sir I have more Honour, than to 
fight with the man that has given me my Life: 
I know what belongs to your punctilios. 

Sir Nich. Then, Sir, you shall be very much 
Kick’d. 


Scene I] ?&\)t ©oltmtm# 30 1 

Enter Dingboy running: Welford o'retakes him. 

Welf. Not, Sir, that you are worth the 640 
Catching, I have had this Chase after you : 
but it is fit a Rascal that is so impudent shou’d 
be Kick’d to some purpose. 

Ding. Do what you will. But I’gad I 
won’t fight. 64 s 

[They give ’em half a dozen kicks a piece. 

Nick. This is most ungenerous, and highly 
disobliging. 

Ding. Very unkind indeed. 

Sir Nich. Come, Sir, I ask a thousand 
pardons, that I have disappointed you. 1 650 
thought to have shewn you some play. But 
you see how a man may be mistaken in outsides. 

Welf. Come, Sir, let’s away. 

[Exit Welf. and Sir Nicholas. 

Ding. Are not you a damn’d Son of a Whore 
to bring me into these inconveniencies ? 655 

Nick. Why, you impudent ungrateful Ras¬ 
cal ! How many good Bubbles have you shar’d 
with me ? Wou’d you have all the sweet, and 
none of the sowre ? 

Dick. Thus we Bullies and Sharpers are 660 
always found out by such Blockheads as you 
are, who never knew your men. 

659. sowre. D, sour. 662. knew. D, know. 


302 


tlTlje ©olunterrs 


[Act IV 


Nickum. You senseless Dog: in a herd of 
Cattle, each knows, who can beat who. But 
665 how the Devil shou’d we know it among men ? 
But we must venture sometimes. 

Ding. Venture! A pox on you, see what 
you bring it to, by your venturing. 

Nick. Well, Bullies, take warning by us, 
670 *tis true a Sharper might quarrel sometimes, 
that’s certain, but 

If he he wise , he[’l]l do what e’re he can 
E’re he begins to Roar , to know his man. 

ACT IV. SCENE I. 

[Enter]* Clara and Lettice, and four or five of Hackwell 
Sen's Servants. 

Clara. Go, Porters! Carry all those 
Trunks and Boxes, and my Scritore to Major 
General Blunts: Where’s my good Mother- 
in-Law ? 

5 Lett. Taking her repose upon her Bed: 
But this day, Madam; will break all our hearts 
to part with you ! 

Clara. I must leave you ! 

* [Enter]. Q, omits. 


Scene I] 


Wqt ©oiunteers? 


3°3- 


Lett. You’l leave very few dry Eyes behind 
you, Madam! IO 

1 Serv. We shall never have the like within 
these Walls again ! 

2 Serv. Nay, now my young Master, and 

my Lady are gone, all good Nature has left 
the Family. IS 

Clara. There, Mistress Lettice: there’s two 
Guineas for you, and five to drink amongst 
you, and the rest of your fellow Servants. 

Lett. A thousand thanks, Madam. 

1 Serv. Heaven bless you Madam. 20 

2 Serv. A shame o’ this second Wife, for 
coming under our Roof. 

1 Serv. And that scurvy proud Minx her 
Daughter: we never had good day since. 

Lett. She’s the very picture of ill Condi- 25 
tions : Stinginess and ill Nature came into the 
Family with ’em. — Here she comes. 

Enter Winifred. 

Clara. O Sister, I need not take my leave 
of you : We shall meet at the Ball. 

Wini. Yes, and I’ll Dance there too ! 3Q 

Clara. Awkardly, and affectedly, to my 
knowledge. [Aside. 


31. Awkardly. D, Awkwardly. 


304 


©olunteera 


[Act IV 


Winif. I left my dear Teresia ill: I cannot 
answer my so long absence from her, — Let 
35 me dye — Tell my Mother when she wakes, 
that I am gone thither. 

Clara. Mr. Hop din’d at the Steward’s 
Table, I heard, — will he be there ? 

Winif. What’s that to you ? — He dine 
40at the Steward’s Table! He scorns it. You 
are a good Friend of his; — Fare you well, — 
but hold, I have forgot something. 

Clara. Fare you well, — I shall be there 
before you. 

[Exeunt Clara and Serv. 

Enter Sir Timothy Kastril. 

45 Sir Tim. She’s here, a propos. 

Winif. Bless me, how came this Fellow 
here ? 

Sir Tim. Madam, I perceiv’d how you were 
disturb’d, when I made addresses to you in 
50 publick: and therefore am come to make a 
private offer of my Heart. 

Winif. Ha! what says the Fellow ? 

Sir Tim. You cannot be a stranger to my 
love, which you must often have perceiv’d 
55 by my continual Ogling you at the Play-House, 
and at Church : my side glassing you at the 


Scene i] )t ©oltutteet# 305 

Park. And my humble Bowes to you in the 
Mall. 

Winif. Oh impudence! 

Sir Tim. And as a Confirmation of all,—60 
Behold this Billet, I receiv’d from you; you 
will not disown it, I hope ? 

Winif. From me, Audacious Coxcomb ! 

[Tears it. 

Sir Tim. What the Devil do[e]s she mean ? 

Winif. From me? Let me dye, I would 6s 
turn away my M[ai]d, should she write to such 
a Fellow. Why sure you don’t take your self 
for a Beau ? I’ll say’t I never saw so weasell’d- 
fac’d a Puppy — may I perish if thou hast 
not the Complexion of an East-Indian — 170 
never sa[w] a Bantamite so ugly! — Thou a 
Beau ? 

Sir Tim. Aye Madam ! I a Beau ? Why 
not I a Beau ? 

The Town is pleas’d to call me one. 75 

Winif. Let me dye, if anybody but your 
self, can be so impudent. 

Sir Tim. Come, lay this Raillery aside; and 

57. Bowes. D, Bows. 

64. do[e]s. Q, dos. 

66. M[ai]d. Q, Miad. 

68, 69. weasell’d-fac’d. D, weasel-fac’d. 

71. sa[u>]. Q, say. 


3°6 


it ©olunteers 


[Act IV 


let us grow familiar — I know you’l own your 
80 Billet. Dam me Madam, if you don’t write 
very prettily, you had not need to be asham’d 
on’t. 

Winif. I can bear no longer, I’ll swear I’ll 
have the[e] Kickt, Beaten and Buffeted — 
85 And toss’d in a Blanket, let me dye else. 

[Gives him a box 0 the Ear and plucks off his 

Perrewig. 

Sir Tim. What a Devil is the matter ? O 
my Conscience and Soul, she’s mad. 

Winif. Who’s there ? who waits ? 

Enter Nickum. 

Nick. Madam, I am here at your service. 

90 Sir Tim. Damn this Bully. — What does he 
do here ? 

Winif. I have been so affronted by that 
Fellow, with the ugly Fiz, that calls himself a 
Beau, — that I’ll say’t I never was in my life. 

95 Sir Tim. O Lord — I abuse you! mercy 
upon me! Madam, are not you asham’d ? 
Sir, I have the greatest honour for her in the 
world. I am in Love. 

Winif. If I have no body to beat thee; — 
100 I’ll beat thee my self. 

84. the[e ]. Q, the. 

94. was in. D, was so in. 


Scene I] 


Volunteers; 


307 


Nick. I dare swear this is a Coward, — 
and I’ll revenge my self to purpose on him, 
for that Rogue his brother Beau: Madam, 
you shall not be put to that trouble. Have at 
you, Sir. [ Cudgels him. 105 

Sir Tim. Why Sir, Sir, — As I hope to be 
sav’d, Sir; why, what a pox, are you out of 
your Wits ? — Why, Madam, — Oh, what a 
Devil ailes you, Let me never stir I meant her 
no more hurt than my own soul. no 

Nick. You had best give the Lady the lye, 
Sirrah. 

[Trips up his heels , heats him when he’s down. 

Sir Tim. Hold, hold, Murder, murder, 
Help, help. 

Winif. Now Couzen let him alone, ’Tis 115 
enough, my Honours satisfi’d. 

Your Servant. [Exit Winifred. 

Nick. Gad I think I have made this an 
Example! I hope I shall never light on a 
wrong one again. [Exit Nickum. 120 

Sir Tim. What a Devil will become of me ? 

I am a most miserable unfortunate fellow, if 
my lugs by the Ears, my Kicks and Drubs 
come to be known. I shall be undone with all 
the Beaux and Ladies too. — I will walk out 125 
and Consider. — A Knight, a Beau! a Wit 


3°8 


©lie ©oluntcers 


[Act IV 


lugg’d by the Ears! Cudgel’d, cuff’d Box’t, 
Kick’d, Cum multis aliis quce nunc prescribere 
longum est — Dam me a man had better be 
130 kill’d or hang’d : Well, Revenge shall be had, 
that’s certain, — But how will Honour be had 
again, when I have lost it — besides when this 
is known, I shall be buffeted every day — let 
me think a little as I go. [ Exit Sir Tim. 

Enter at the other Door Colonel Hackwell Senior , and Lettice. 
13s Hack. sen. What noise was that, I heard 
even now from my Closet ? 

Lettice. Mr. Nickum beat a Knight, that 
affronted Madam Winifred most exceedingly; 
as long as the Knight was able to be beaten. 

140 Hack. sen. I profess I think I am much 
bound to that Nickum. 

Lettice. Yes, if you knew all, and in troth 
it shall out. [Aside. 

Hack. sen. He is as a faithful friend, I take 
14s it, unto me, and my Lamb, as any of the 
Wicked can be to the Godly. 

Lettice. He faithful: I am glad you are 
come so fitly, that I can make you an eye¬ 
witness of his baseness. He dishonours the 
150 House, nay, for ought I know, makes it a 
Bawdy-house, even now. 

144. He is as a. D, He is a. 


Scene I] 


®l )t JBoiunteet* 


309 


Hack. sen. Verily is my House become a 
nest for Hornets ? A Bawdy-house! with 
whom ? 

Lettice. Nay, — I know not with whom, 155 
— But I saw him through a —, on a Bed, with 
one of our Sex, even now: — May be one of 
the Maids — Pull off your Shoes and follow 
me, and you may see the most unhallow’d 
sight. 160 

Hack. sen. Will it not unsanctifie my 
Eyes — But I will follow. 

[Exit Hack. sen. and Let. 
Nick. Little do[e]s your sanctifi’d Dive- 
Dapper of a Husband think what prancks we 
play him ? [Nick and Mrs. Hack, on a Bed. 165 
Mrs. Hack. Not he, good man; — but you 
are a naughty man, and will make me hate 
you, if you be so abominably valiant, to ven¬ 
ture your Dear person upon all occasions thus. 
The relation makes me tremble. 170 

Nick. Pshaw, Waw, — no danger: indeed 
when he came up first, he threw in a Pass or 
two, very briskly — faith — But when he 
found how strongly I parryed; and how like 
Lightening I flung my passes in, ha, hah, 175 


163. do[e]s. Q, dos. 

175. Lightening. D, lightning. 


3 IQ 


Volunteers? 


[Act IV 


hah — He soon retir’d, — and I made him 
mortgage most wickedly. 

Mrs. Hack. Mortgage! 

Nick. A phrase we Killcows of the Town 
180 use, when we make a Spark give ground: 
As I and my Friend made this Beau, and the 
terrible Volunteer Welford do. Gad we made 
’em scamper, as if they had been employ’d to 
measure the ground, I faith we did. 

185 Mrs. Hack. How glad am I that I have thee 
safe within these Arms. 

Enter Collonel Hack. Sen. and Lettice. 

Hack. sen. Bless my Eyes ! 

What do I see ? it is my Lamb. 

Lett. Now I think I have brought my busi- 
i 9 o ness about. [Aside. 

Nick. Ounds we are undone! Counterfeit 
a [swooning] fit: Oh Heavens she’s gone! 
she’s gone! 

[She groans and falls down on the Bed. 
Nay, you are come to[o] late; wou’d no body 
xps hear me, when I knock’t for help (as if I 
would have beaten the house down) poor Lady ! 
I heard a noise in her Chamber; and found 
her upon the Floor, beating her self and knock- 

192. [swooning], Q, sounding. 

194. to[o], Q, to. 


Scene i] )t Volunteer* 311 

ing her Head against the Ground. She has 
kill’d her self, I believe. 

Lett. Oh Devil! Thou father of Lies ! 
Hack. sen. Oh my Lamb, — my poor 
Lamb, — take my Keys! run, run for some 
spirit of Hearts-horn, run — run. — 

Lett. How the Devil helps his Servants. 

[Exit Lettice. 

Nick. If she comes to her self, four men 
cannot hold her, call for help. 

Hack. sen. Help, help, help; Oh poor 
Lamb — Lamb — Lamb — sweet Lamb — 
Dear Lamb — hold up thy head, — speak 
Lamb,—Oh that ever I was born — Lamb, 

— Lamb I say. 

[Rubs her and pulls her by the Nose. 
Mrs. Hack. Oh, oh. — 

Nick. Look to it, — she begins to come to 
her self. 

Enter Lettice with a Vial. 

Lett. Here’s the Spirit. 

Hack. sen. Give it me, — Oh Lamb, Lamb, 

— Lamb. [Pours it in her mouth. 

Mrs. Hack. Oh, what do you do, — Where 

am I ? — whither am I going Oh, oh — 


200 

205 

210 

215 

220 


204. Hearts-horn. D, Harts-horn. 


312 ®t)e *Munteer0 [activ 

Nick. Help, — help, — where are you all, 
— Help, help. 

Hack. sen. Where are you: — Win the 
Fight , — Stand fast to the Faith ! Perseverance 
225 — Long suffering , — Fight a good fight. Hahak- 
kuk, Nehehemiah, — where are you all ? 

Nick. What a Muster Roll of Christen- 
names is here ? 

Mrs. Hack. Let me go, let me go; — Mur- 
230 der, murder, Help, help. 

Enter four or five Servants. 

Hack. sen. Why Lamb: Now dear sweet 
Lamb. All hold her! Hold her, she will 
beat her self in pieces. 

Nick. Rarely acted ! Incomparably acted. 
235 Hack. sen. Ah my poor Lamb, — Hold her! 

Lett. Lamb — Aye dear Lamb. — She has 
made a Ram of thee. [Aside. 

Mrs. Hack. Let go, let go, what am I taken ? 

Nick. Hold your peace! she comes to her 
240 self. 

[Sits down, still groans, then sobs and cryes. 

Hack. sen. Oh [my] dear Lamb, be pacifi’d, 
what shall I do ? Oh, oh. 

[Sits down, and cryes by her. 

226. Nehehemiah. D, Nehemiah. 227. Christen. D, Christian. 

241. [my], Q, may. 


Scene I] 


©oluntm# 


313 


Lett. Oh Heaven! will you suffer truth to 
be thus run down, with falsehold ? 

Nickum to Lettice. This is your malice, 245 
Huzzy, — I warrant,—We’ll be reveng’d of you. 

Hack. sen. My dear, my sweet — speak, 
speak to thy own Duckling. 

Mrs. Hack. Who’s here ? My Honey, my 
Dear. 250 

Hack. sen. Oh my dear Lamb; Dry thy 
Eyes. 

Mrs. Hack. Oh Cousin Nickum , art thou 
there ? 

Hack. sen. Ay my Lamb — or thou hadst 255 
not been here ! I mean alive ! 

Mrs. Hack. Truly Cousin, I must own, I 
am much bound unto thee. 

Lettice. This is most amazing. Now will 
all this turn upon me. 260 

Mrs. Hack. Pray retire all: I have some¬ 
thing for my Ducklings private Ear. 

Hack. sen. What a mercy it is, I have thee 
in my Arms again ! [Exeunt. 

Mrs. Hack. You see what your Brood — 265 
your Son and Daughter have brought me too! 
Into Fits, most dangerous Fits : Oh I am sore! 
very sore! I cannot lift my Hands to my 
Head: 




t Volunteer* 


[Act IV 


270 Hack. sen. How am I afflicted ! 

Mrs. Hack. I have one Secret to Un¬ 
burden my self of! and I beg thy pardon 
that I did not discover’t to thee before — 
Oh — 

275 Hack. sen. What’s that ? Dear Lamb ? 

Mrs. Hack. Your Son ! your wicked Son — 
It sets my Hair an end to think on’t: — Has 
pressed me with Love from time to time: He 
would have dishonour’d your Bed — and 
280 defil’d me. 

Hack. sen. Gad forgive me — thee — de¬ 
fil’d thee! 

Mrs. Hack. Yes, defil’d me! the thought 
of this; and the horror it brought along with 
285 it, when I was alone, cast me into this killing 
fit: Which how long I have been in, or how I 
came out! Thou best know’st. 

Hack. sen. I will disinherit the wicked 
Wretch; and settle all that is unsettled upon 
290 thee and thy Daughter — If thou hast not 
Issue of thy Body by me ! 

Mrs. Hack. No, no, my dear Duckling! 
Thou art too kind: How can we deserve so 
great a bounty ? — I hope thou do’st not 
295 believe I ever had it in my thoughts ! 

Hack. sen. Nay, I observe, when any one 


Scene I] 


®l)e Volunteers? 


315 


deserts our Congregation, they stop at no 
Wickedness after that. 

Mrs. Hack. But how cam’st thou so happily 
to my help ? 3GO 

Hack. sen. By Providence: But to say 
Truth, thy Hand-maid Lettice told me she saw 
Nickum , upon a Couch, with a Woman, dis¬ 
honouring my House; and making it a Bawdy- 
house. aos 

Mrs. Hack. O most pernicious Jade! where 
is she ? Lettice , Lettice! I’ll make an Example 
of her. 

Enter Lettice. 

Hack. sen. Verily she deserveth to be made 
an example. 

Lettice. What to do now ? 

Mrs. Hack. Oh Impious Wretch ! Would’st 
have dishonour’d me; I’ll tear thy Eyes out. 

Lettice. They saw too much : Did they ? 

Mrs. Hack. Most Audacious Jade ! I’ll 3.5 
beat thee to Pap. 

Hack. sen. Fret not thy self, dear Lamb! 
thou wo’t endanger a Fit. 

Lettice. Yes, She will have many such Fits. 

Mrs. Hack. Pack up all your Trinckets, 320 
and be gone Huswife! 


310 


ie ©olunteets 


[Act IV 


316 


Lettice. A happy opportunity! since the 
Young [Colonel] and his Sister are gone; every 
one in the House would take it for a favour, to 
325 be turn’d out of it. 

Mrs. Hack. Look there, You see what Fac¬ 
tion she is of; No, Huswife, that shall not 
serve your turn; — I’ll tie you to my Bedpost, 
and lash you soundly my self! And then 
330 have you whipp’d to some purpose in Bridewell. 

Lettice. Say you so; — But I have a way 
worth two on’t. [Exit Lettice. 

Hack. sen. In truth she’s a wicked Crea¬ 
ture : But disquiet not thy self, nothing can 
33s make me entertain one ill thought of my Lamb. 

Mrs. Hack. Thou art a dear sweet Duck¬ 
ling ! But pray let me go into the Air. It 
may refresh me after this Fit. 

Hack. sen. Come my sweet Lamb — Lean 
340 upon me, Lamb. —• [ Exeunt. 

Enter Sir Timothy Kastril. 

Sir Tim. If I suffer my self to be beaten, 
cuff’t, and kick’d thus any longer: Instead of 
saluting me with their Hats, Fellows will salute 
me, with Fist, Foot, and Cudgel. I shall be 
345 beaten like Hemp or Stock-fish, — I shall 
grow in a little time, the common Anvil of the 


Scene I] 


©olunteertf 


3i7 


Town. — Well, — In short I dare not endure 
beating any longer : — Let me see, — What a 
Pox, ’Tis fifty to one, he does not hit my Vitals, 
if he hits me: And if it be but a flesh Wound 350 

— that’s no great matter — hah; I have a 
pretty long Sword — What a Devil! I’ll 
fight I am resolv’d : For ’tis better to be kill’d, 
than to live such a beaten Life as I am like to 
live without it. — Where is this Rogue Nickum ? 355 
I’ll watch him till Midnight, — If he does not 
bolt out before. 

Enter Nickum. 

Nickum. These kicks from this damn’d 
Beau, sit very uneasily upon me! He touch’d 
my Honour to the Quick, — as Hudibras says, 360 

— I must resolve to fight him: For if not, 
after this Baffle, I shall not get a debt that’s 
owing me by a Bubble in England; — I have a 
Challenge ready penn’d. I fancy if I come 
roundly up with him, he will be modest yet. 36s 

Sir Tim. Ha ! here the Rogue is ! What is 
he muttering to himself ? 

Nick. It shall go — Porter, Porter. 

Enter Porter. 

Porter. Who calls Porter ? 

Nick. Here, I; Take this Note and carry 370 

365. roundly . D, round. 


[Act IV 


318 ®tie Wo\nntm& 

it, as it is directed: And here’s six Pence for 
your pains. 

Nick. Well, ’tis gone: I must resolve to 
fight; this confounded Beau will tell all the 
375 Town, what Men he baffles, as well as what 
Women he lies with. 

Sir Tim. There’s no more to be said — I 
will fight — Sirrah, Rogue, Rascal, Scoundrel, 
Coward. I’ll whip thee through — I’ll make 
380 thee fuller of holes, then e’re pink’t Satin was ! 

Nick. What the Devil, is this Coward Beau 
run mad ? 

Sir Tun. He begins to fear me, — Sirrah, — 
I will mangle thee so; that when I have kill’d 
385 thee — They shall not know whether thou art 
a Man or a Fish. 

Nick. If you long to be beaten agen — [Draws. 

Sir Tim. Beaten you Dog! Have at your 
Lungs, or some other of your Entrails. 

[He runs at Nickum as hard as he can , and dis¬ 
arms him. 

390 Damme, beg your Life Sirrah. 

Nick. I do, — I do. 

Sir Tim. What a Pox, is this all ? I have no 
hurt to make such a business of fighting; — 
Here Sirrah, take your Sword, and fight agen ! 
395 Here’s a Business indeed. 


Scene I] 


&oluntm* 


3 i 9 

Nick. What with one that has given me 
my life ? 

Sir Tim. Prithee, I gave thy life to thee to 
fight with it. Gad I must fight with you, or 
some body else; — It’s an admirable Exer¬ 
cise ! I intend to use it a Mornings instead 
of Tennis. 

Nick. This is most amazing! What a 
Metamorphosis is this ? He is a bloody 
minded Beau; — That I shou’d light on two 
wrong Beaus in an hour! Pox on ’em for me, 

— I’ll meddle no more with ’em. 

Sir Tim. Will you fight again Sirrah ? If 
you won’t, get you about your Business, — 
What have I to do with you ? A company of 
cowardly Rascals of you ; — Now I think on’t, 
you laid me on confoundedly. 

[Struts up and down and Cudgels him. 

Nick. This is the Devil in his shape sure, 
My Sword Sir ? 

Sir Tim. No Sirrah, You have no occasion 
for it; you durst not fight, I’ll keep it Sirrah, 

— begone. 

Nickum. What a Devil! Does he take the 
Plunder o’ the Field ? I see I must fight now. — 

[Exit Nickum. 

Sir Tim. Gad take me, this is rare sport; 


400 

40s 

410 

415 

420 


320 


®(>e ©olunteers 


[Act IV 


I long to be fighting with some body else, — 
I must pick a Quarrel. 

Enter Welford. 

Here’s one comes for the purpose: I must 
have a bout with him, for his familiarity with 
425 my Ears. 

Welf. What the Devil is here ? A Filou ? 
Are you Robbing of Passengers of their Swords ? 

Sir Tim. No, Winning ’em Honourably; 
And I’ll have yours before you go much further. 
430 Welf. What says the Coxcomb ? 

Sir Tim. Coxcomb! Dammee y’are a 
Puppy, — I am a Knight. 

Welf. Oh wondrous Transformation in two 
hours. 

435 Sir Tim. Hah, let me see, — I’ll run you 
through in Teirce. 

Welf. Prithee Fool, — Don’t trouble me. 
Sir Tim. No, no, trouble you; I won’t 
trouble you; only run you through the Body, 
440—I never saw a Man so slow in my Life. 
Have at you. 

Welf. Pish — Pox o’ this Feble, — there 

426. A Filou? D , omits. 

431. Dammee. D, Dam me. 

436. Teirce. D, Terce. 

442. Feble. D, fellow. 


Scene I] 


e Volunteers; 


3 2 1 


trouble me no more. — What sudden change 
is this ? He was mad before, or is mad now. 
[Welf. Runs at him , disarms him , flings him 
his Sword , and Exit. 

Sir Tim. Hah! This is a very pretty Fel-445 
low. He fights very prettily: Gad as well as 
my self; — I see 'tis nothing, the Devil take 
me, I’ll fight with every body that has ever 
frown'd upon me in his life. 

Enter Nickum, Constable and Guard. 

Nickum. That's he: He has the very 450 
Sword he robb’d me of, in his Hand, — lay 
hold on him. [ Constable seizes Sir Tim. 

Sir Tim. How now ? What’s the mat¬ 
ter ? 

Constab. You are a bold Thief! A fine 455 
Rogue! Rob Gentlemen of their Swords, in 
the Day time ? There will be no passing the 
Streets, for such Rogues as you are. 

Nickum. He came upon me before I was 
aware; and whipt away my Sword. 460 

Sir Tim. You lye Sirrah! Coward! I 
fought with the Rogue, and won it nobly. 

Const. Ah, Come, come, and you shall be 
hang’d nobly. 

Watchm. He would have robb'd another 46s 


322 Boluntwtf [act iv 

Gentleman; but he was too hard for him, and 
beat him. 

Sir Tim. Why, what the devil, are you 
mad ? Why, I am a Knight, these are Rogues, 
470 they lye. 

Const. A Knight, and such a Thief, — 
away with him ! away with him. 

Enter Taylor. 

Sir Tim. Oh here’s my Taylor; — He can 
tell you who I am ? 

475 Taylor. Are ? — Yes; Why what’s the mat¬ 
ter here! This is Sir Tymothy Kastril: As 
honest a Gentleman, and pays his Bills as well 
as any Gentleman, and bates as little. 

Const. How! pay his Bills well ? He has 
4 8operplext the Cause; why this Gentleman has 
accused him of flat Felony. 

Taylor. He! Why that’s a Sharper! A 
Rogue ! A Cheat! 

Nick. Sirrah, I shall remember you. 

485 Const. No threatning here Sir. 

Nick. Let me see the Sword he robb’d me 
of; here’s the Scabbard to’t, why this is 
Demonstration. 

Taylor. What! A Bully? A Sharper? 
490 And Robb’d of his Sword ? This is a Cheat, 
a plain Cheat. 


Scene I] 


©olunteettf 


3^3 


Const. I see it now, Sir, You are an honest 
Gentleman; and may go about your Business, 

— I have a good mind to lay that Rogue by 
the Heels. 495 

Nick. No, not so, — I’ll go about my 
Business; — I see I must run some body 
through; or I am utterly undone. 

Sir Tim. Honest Stichum, I am beholding 
to you. I beat this Rogue and disarm’d him; 500 
and had a mind to shew his Sword for fear the 
Rascal should deny it. — And put me to beat 
him again. — And he accuses me of Robbery, 
Mr. Constable! There’s a Guiney for your 
watch to drink. 505 

Const. Thank you Sir; — A very worthy 
honest Gentleman. 

Watch. Thank you Sir; a very honest Gen¬ 
tleman. [Exeunt. 

SCENE, the M. G.’s House. 

Enter Sir Nich. Daynty, and Teresia. 

Sir Nich. Fa, la, la; sweet Madam; your510 
Father acquaints me that you are pleased to 
honour me with your best Affections. 

499. Stichum. D, Stitchum. 
beholding. D, beholden. 

504. Guiney. D, guinea. 


32 4 


®t)e Volunteers; 


[Act IV 


Teres. Oh Lord; you make me blush; — 
sure he would not say such a thing ? 

515 Sir Nich. Nay, Madam; if you deny it, I 
know not what measures to take then. 

Teres. Sir, I dare not deny, that I have said 
to my Father, That you are a fine accomplisht 
Person! 

520 Sir Nich. Ah Madam, — ah, — no, — no. 

Teres. And that your Air and Miene are 
Excellent. 

Sir Nich. Sweet Madam, you will make me 
too proud. 

525 Teres. And that the Charms of your Con¬ 
versation are invincible, let me die! 

Sir Nich. Nay Madam, Dam mee, if you 
don’t go a little too far now. 

Teres. I can never go too far in the praises 

530 of so compleat a Gentleman, I’ll say it. 

Sir Nich. No Madam : Yes, yes, you may : 
But what’s all this to your Love Madam ? 
This will shew that you admire a Person; But 
never that you love him. 

535 Teres. But Oh my Weakness! I told you 
in the Park, I did love you; my blushes will 
o’recome me. 

Sir Nich. Did you Madam ? I protest I 

521. Miene. D, Mien. 


Scene I] 


tEHie ®olnnteertf 


3^5 


had forgot it; I am so far from deserving the 
Honour ! But dear Madam, Do you love me now? 540 
Teres. Yes, yes; I am afraid too well! 

Sir Nich. I must confess you have a great 
many Rivals Madam! But you have the 
preferrence in my affections: And shall ride 
Sovereign in my heart. 545 

Teres. Let me die if I can look upon you ! 

Sir Nich. Madam, I must tell you, tho the 
Beaux will laugh at, and disc[a]rd one that 
marries : Yet I am content for your sake to be 
laugh’d at. 550 

Teres. And will you set aside your Cam- 
paigne, and yield to loves soft Charms ? 

Sir Nich. Not for the World Madam, 
What ? set aside my Honour ? that cannot 
be for all the Treasures upon Earth. 555 

Teres. Nay, then you love me not, and I 
am miserable. 

Sir Nich. Dammee Madam, I have had 50 
Ladies in love with me, and never lov’d any one 
of ’em, half so much. 560 

Teres. No, no, You love not me! all I 

542, 543. a great many. D, too many. 

544. preferrence. D, preference. 

548. disc[a]rd. Q, dis-cord. 

558. jo. D, fifty. 

559. and never. D, and I never. 


326 


Volunteers 


[Act IV 


have to do is to retire and weep; and sigh my 
self into a Ghost, I'll swear. [Exit Teresia. 

Sir Nich. Why, Madam, Madam — 

Enter a Servant. 

565 Servant. Sir, here’s a Note left for you, by 
a Porter. 

Sir Nich. Hah! this is no Billet: This is 
made up by some Blockheadly Fellow! Ha! 
Nickum! This is a Challenge! its a very odd 
570 one ! Let me go in and enquire about it. [Exit. 

Enter M. G. Blunt, Hackwell Junior, and Eugenia. 

M. G. Bl. I have left my old Officers at the 
last Newbury fight, as drunk as ever they were 
in the Army: They will fling Bottles at one 
anothers heads, as they were wont to do; 
575 But — ah — how goes on your process of Love 
betwixt you ? 

Hack. jun. Much too slow Sir, for my 
eager wishes. 

Eugen. I see our English Soldiers, are for 
580nothing but storming; they have not patience 
for a siege! 

M. G. Bl. Look thee Tom. I’ll say that for 
her; she ? s as good a Girl as any man can 
boast of. 


Scene I] 


)t ©olunteers 


327 


Hack. jun. She’s all Excellence! she’s all 585 
Perfection. 

M. G. Bl. A Dod, Countrey Gentlemen are 
Knaves enough; when they put Horses that 
are Jades into one anothers hands: But they 
may be chopt away, or sold in Smithfield; but 590 
to put a Woman Jade into ones hands, that 
he must never part with; by the Lord Harry, 
it is unpardonable. 

Hack. jun. The same Honour ever shines 
in all your Actions. 595 

M. G. Bl. I have indeed an Ass of a Daugh¬ 
ter ! which I put off to an Ass of a Knight: 
but he likes her for being an Ass, and she likes 
him for being an Ass; so ’tis an equal match. 
The Devils in’t, if they don’t agree: They are 600 
so like they are almost one flesh already. 

Eugen. Methinks Sir, ’tis time enough to 
talk of this in time of peace. 

M. G. Bl. A Dod that’s very well: That’s 
like a Fellow whose Bridge was a falling,— 605 
Would not flux because times were unsettled: 
Does not War make a Destruction of Men ? 
What should good Subjects do then; — But 
lay about them to replenish. A dod, this 
young Fellow and his Friend, are gallant 610 
Fellows ! And if they be knockt o’the head this 


328 


Qtt)e JBoluntwtf 


[Act IV 


Summer, — I’d have some of the breed left, 
— which is almost lost in England. 

Eugen. I beseech you Sir, be not so hasty. 
615 M. G. Bl. Thou dissembling Jade thou: 
By my troth Huswife, if thou be’st not a little 
Civiller, I’ll tell Tales. 

Eugen. For Heaven sake! if ever you 
loved me, betray not my weakness. 

Enter Clara. 

620 M. G. Bl. Well, well; — oh here comes my 
fair Charge. 

Clara. My dear, now I am come to thee, 
never to leave thee. 

M. G. Bl. Hold, hold, — I forbid those 
625 Ban[n]s: There’s a brave young Fellow, 
Welford , and this Youth here, shall part you 
both, and to your hearts content, — and see 
here he comes. 

Enter Welford. 

Look you, Sir, There’s your Mistress; to 
630 her, and see what you can make of her — I 
am her Guardian, and dispose of her to you — 
Come, come, leave ’em together. 

Clara. Good Guardian — what do you 
mean ? My Dear! my Eugenia. 

625. Ban[n]s. Q, Banes. 


Scene I] 


®tie ©olunteettf 


3^9 


M. G. Bl. Nay, Adod if you be not Civil 635 
— I’ll lock you up. 

Hack. jun. And Sister, I present this 
Gentleman to you, as the greatest treasure you 
can have: He’l make you as happy, as you 
are capable of being. 640 

Clara. I am besieg’d on every side. 

M. G. Bl. Come, come, away: fall to 
your Love tricks — Be not too long in Cere¬ 
mony : think of the substance: Women are 
not to be perswaded — They perswade them- 64s 
selves. 

[Exeunt M. G. Bl. Col. and Eugenia. 

Welf. Madam, Can you flye from your 
Adorer ? 

Clara. Can you imagine I can be so vain to 
think — I have an Adorer ? 650 

Welf. There’s nothing on this side Heaven, 
that I can worship equal to you: The world 
in Ballance, is too light for you. 

Clar. A man only shews his parts, by fine 
Language, that never goes for any thing. 655 

Welf. Madam, I scorne to speak a language 
that is not from my heart: I would renounce 
the Universe for you. 

Clara. No, I dare say, not this Campaigne 
for me. 


660 


330 


Ww Muntm* 


[Act IV 


Welf. I could not do’t for you. For should 
I quit my honour you’d despise me. 

Clara. ’Tis a hard task to speak against 
ones Conscience. [Aside. 

665 Welf. But I must be miserable without your 
favour, and if you will not grant it, I shall 
desire to be shot from out of a Bomb upon the 
Enemy. 

Clara. What a foolish thing is a Woman, 
670 when a man makes love to her. [Aside. 

Sure, you would not have me set my Love 
upon one that’s going to be knock’t o’the head. 

Welf. The better, Madam — When he 
leaves all that’s dear to him in this World for’t. 
675 Clara. That were to make my self miser¬ 
able, shou’d I loose him. 

Enter Sir Timothy. 

Sir Tim. Madam, Your most humble Ser¬ 
vant, Sir, I love and honour you : Y’are brave 
— and I’ll draw my Sword for you. 

680 Welf. Pox o’ this Puppy. 

Enter Sir Nicholas, with a Challenge in his Hand. 

Sir Nich. Oh Mr. Welford! I am glad 
you are here! 

You are a Judge of Honour, — and I would 


Scene I] 


Volunteer* 


331 


consult with you: I have sent for the Major 
General — and [Colonel] Hackzvell. 685 

Sir Tim. If it be about Honour, Consult 
with me, Nicky: I have fought two Duels 
since I saw you : And long to fight a third. 
One of ’em was with this Gentleman here. 

Sir Nich. Dam me, what, has he cast his 690 
Skin, or is becom[e] a new Creature ? Two 
Duels ! — ’Tis impossible. 

Enter M. G. Bl., Hackwell Junior, and Eugenia. 

M. G. Bl. Pox o’these Fools ! 

How came they here to interrupt Love ? 

Sir Nich. Come Gentlemen: Nay, the 695 
Ladies may hear it too! 

You must know, I was challeng’d by a Fel¬ 
low this Afternoon, whose name I conceal’d, 

— And this Gentleman did me the Honour to 
be my second. 700 

Hack. jun. What a Devil! wert thou 
drawn in, by this Fop ? 

Sir Nich. His Opposite would not fight at 
all; — And mine fought so scurvily, that he 
ran back, and dropt his Sword on purpose — 1 70s 
gave it him again, and bid him use it better — 
But he durst not — so, we kick’d ’em both 
exceedingly, and left ’em. 

691. becom[e], Q, becom. 


33^ 


®t )t ©olunteer0 


[Act IV 


Sir Tim. Rogues, — Cowards, — Damn’d 
710 Cowards : — that men can be such Cowards. 

Sir Nich. Now, my Rogue has sent me the 
most unmannerly rude Challenge — that ever 
was — And the point in question is, whether I 
ought to answer this; from a Fellow whom I 
715 have given his Life to, — or have him drub’d 
immoderately, by my Footman. 

M. G. Bl. A Dod, a pretty Farce; Lets 
hear the Challenge. 

Sir Nich. [Reads.] Coxcomb Daynty —for 
720 Knight, I do scorn to call thee; Did you ever 
hear such a rude Fellow? 

M. G. Bl. A Dod, he comes up roundly with 
thee Knight. 

Sir Nich. [Reads.] When thou should'st have 
725 attack'd me to my Face , Thou did'st basely invade 
me behind my back: Therefore I challenge thee 
to meet me face to face; not as thou did'st before , 
Face to Arse. 

[Speaks.] With the pardon of the Ladies, 
730 these are his words. 

[Reads.] Tho the most unworthy part of Man , 
is too honourable to be encountred by such a 
Rascal. Consider and Tremble: Thy Father if 
he were alive , cou'd not give thee better Counsel: 

71S, 760. drub’d. D, drubb’d. 


Scene I] 


®lie Volunteers? 


333 


For there is no Composition for thy safety — un- 735 
less thou wilt heal that part with thy Tongue , 
like a Dog as thou art: which thou did?st offend 
with thy Hoof; like an Ass as thou wert: All 
the mercy thou art to expect from me in this 
admonition: To prepare thee to dye , with thy 740 
Sword in thy Hand; and if thou Refusest, I will 
be thy Destroyer. 

No matter for the name. Now your judg¬ 
ments upon the Case, Did you ever see such an 
ill bred Fellow? Fight or Drub ? 745 

Sir Tim. Fight, fight, —- and I’ll be your 
Second. 

Clara. Eug. Let’s steal off. 

[Exeunt Eugen. and Clara. 

M. G. Bl. How came this Knight so furious 
o’the suddain ? 750 

Hack, [fun]. He has been kickt and beaten 
into valour: And this is the first day of his 
Reformation — H’has fought twice in an hour. 

M. G. Bl. Hah, sayst thou so ? — I have 
known some such Examples have been the 755 
most troublesome quarrelling Coxcombs about 
the Town after it: But a Dod, they are Cow¬ 
ards at the bottom for all that: Look you 
pupil, in this Case, if the Fellow be a Gentle- 

751. [jun.]. Q, Sen. 


334 


®tie ©oluntemt 


[Act V 


7 6o man: He must not be drub’d : Thou may’st 
cane him thy self, if thou wilt when thou meet’st 
him — If he be not a Gentleman, laugh at him 
— But I faith the Rogue has an arch knack 
at his Pen. 

765 Sir Nich. Upon my word Sir, you have 
decided the matter like an Oracle: — It shall 
be so. 

M. G. Bl. Why Gentlemen, you have let 
the Girls escape, for shame follow ’em. 

770 Sir Nich. For my part, I ne’er trouble my 
self to follow Ladies, they follow me fast enough. 

Sir Tim. What a Pox, shall we have no 
fighting then ? Gad — I’ll quarrel with some 
body or other. 

775 Twas somewhat long , before I durst begin; 

But Til fight like a Devil , now Fm in. 

[Exeunt. 

ACT V. SCENE I. 

Teresia and Winifred. 

Teres. He is so fine a Person, that I vow I 
cannot blush to own my Passion to him : He is 
the charmingst Creature in the World, let me 
die. That Air, that Mien, that bewitching 
5 Conversation! Oh my Dear! all the Town 
is in love with him. 


Scene I] 


©olunteettf 


335 


Wini. Not all the Town, my Dear! For 
my part, I wonder what thou canst see in such 
Fellows ? Thou shouldst learn to value thy 
self, and despise them. I’ll say’t, — I scorn 10 
that any Fellow should make me in love with 
him. 

Teres. Ah, my dear, Thou know’st not 
Cupids power; I warrant thee he has an 
Arrow for thee yet; he’ll pierce thy stubborn is 
heart. 

Wini. I care for ne’re a Cupid of ’em all. 
Tell me of Cupid ? 

Enter Hop. 

Oh sweet Mr. Hop , — I thought we had lost 
thee, — Where hast thou been all this while ? 20 

Hop. I din’d very well, at the Stewards 
Table Madam. 

Wini. The Stewards Table? Good lack! 
sure thou art Company for their betters ? 
Thou shouldst value thy dear Person more. — 25 

Teres. How do you, Master ? You are come 
to help us out in our Countrey Dances ? 

Hop. Yes Madam, I am ready to serve you ! 

Winif. Talk of an Aire and a Miene ? 
Here’s an Aire and a Miene ? a charming Per- 30 


29. Aire . . . Miene. D, air . . . mien [et al\. 


33 6 


® l)t ©oluntma 


[Act V 


son, and bewitching Conversation ! And that 
Divine Musick on the Kit! 

Enter Sir Nich’las Daynty. 

Sir Nich. Ladies, your most humble Ser¬ 
vant. How dost thou do Hop ? 

35 Winif. Hah! — Proud Coxcomb! Plain 
Hop? Sure Mr. Hop might become his 
Mouth? Come, Mr. Hop, let’s retire; You 
shall show me a little — before we begin 
Dancing. 

40 Sir Nich. Ah Madam! that’s not fair 
play. 

Winif. Good Sir, I know not what I do. — 
[Exit Winif. and Hop. 

Sir Nich. I hope Madam you have com¬ 
posed the temper of your mind, and are con- 
45 tented with my venturing for Honour,, especi¬ 
ally since you shall secure my love. 

Teres. Nay, — I’ll say’t; — you cannot love 
me, that can leave me for Drums and Trumpets. 

Sir Nich. Nay, then we have done, Madam, 
so I wont quit my Honour for the World : Alas, 
— the Ladies in the Town are in Mutiny about 
it; and I deny ’em all! 

Teres. Break heart, break — I cannot bear 
it. 


Scene I] 


®t )t ©oitutteer* 


337 


Sir Nich. I am sorry Madam, you will quit 55 
your Lover, for being a Man of Honour; — 
but I despair not of Mistresses. 

Teres. Oh Cruel Tyrant of my Heart! 

Enter M. G. Blunt. 

M. G. Bl. How now Pupil ? How goes on 
this Treaty ? 6o 

Sir Nich. It stops at the Preliminaries, and 
is not like to go on : she will not suffer me to 
satisfy my Honour, and go to the Campaign; 
now I have given my word, and have my 
Equipage all ready. T 11 sooner lose my life 6s 
than stay. 

M. G. Bl. A Dod Knight, thou art in the 
right there, tho thou seldom art so: — By 
Heav’n thou’rt an Ass; thou shalt let him go; 
and Til hold 50/. to one, he does not bring thee 70 
to abandon [him] this Summer! 

Sir Nich. Upon my Honours I’ll venture 
for it, noble Guardian. 

M. G. Bl. Mr. Welford has been at Court, 

— and they are countermanded, and are 75 
not to go these 5 weeks. And a Dod, may 
be that may be long enough to be marryed. 


71. [him]. Q, omits. 

72. Honours. D, Honour. 


33^ 


ie JMunteera 


[Act V 


You may be weary of one another by that 
time — there have been such Examples. 

80 Teres. Oh, never, never; — I’ll say’t— 
shall I be weary ! 

M. G. Bl. Go, go, get you into the drawing 
Room, and agree upon your Treaty: — my 
Pupil and I, shall have no words upon ours. 

8s Sir Nich. Your Servant Sir. 

[Exit Sir Nich. and Teresia. 

Enter Hackwell Junior, and Welford. 

M. G. Bl. Oh come young Fellows, — I 
have found out a way to Dispatch your Busi¬ 
ness with these skittish Girls. I over-heard 
’em say — they would have some private Con¬ 
go ference in this Room. We’ll into a [Closet], and 
over-hear it — A Dod. They are coming — 
in — in — [They] retire. 

Enter Eugenia and Clara. 

Clara. Come my Dear, we are alone ! Let’s 
enjoy one another ? what can make us so 
95 happy ? 

Eugen. The Colonel and Vo[lu]nteer can 
make us happier. 

90. [Closet]. Q, Closlet. 

92. [They]. Q, omits. 

96. Vo[lu]nteer. Q, Voulnteer. 


Scene I] 


JBolunteera 


339 


Clara. That’s true indeed; — but we are 
now alone, and are not forced upon the Drud¬ 
gery of dissembling. IOO 

Eugen. ’Tis very hard that honest Women 
must be tyed to that as well as Wenches. 

Clara. Indeed a little lying is a necessary 
quality in our Sex! 

Eugen. That’s but convenient policy —105 
for us to use with Men; Fiction in Love and 
Poetry is lawful. 

Clara. That’s a very civil word, for lying; 
but there is no pleasure in Conversation, 
where hearts are not open to one another. no 

Eugen. Thou art in the right my Dear; 

Oh my most bewitching Colonel! I wou’d 
not for the world, he knew the power he had 
over me! 

Clara. My Brother is a generous and worthy ns 
Fellow; he’d use it nobly if he did. 

Eugen. Nor is there a Gallenter Fellow than 
thy Volunteer; and I had best let him know 
the power he has over thee. 

Clara. Not for the world, my Dear; he 120 
shall have no Temptation from me, to be a 
Tyrant. You see power alters almost every 
Man. 


117. Gallenter. D, gallanter. 


34° 


)t ©olunteertf 


[Act V 


Eugen. ’Tis fit indeed we conceal our 
i2s foibles; for if they apply their strengths to our 
weakness, they will be too hard for us. 

Clara. Thank Heaven! we have always 
something to ballance that — And can find 
out their weakness. And the great cunning 
130 of our Sex, and all our Dominion comes from 
attacking that. 

Eugen. To say Truth, they are more open- 
hearted, than we, and more easily discov¬ 
ered. But what power has thy Volunteer over 
i 3 S thee ? 

Clara. My Lawful Monarch has as much, 
as ever Tyrant aimed at; Oh, he’s the charm- 
ing’st Creature upon Earth; I could live all 
my life time in a Wilderness with him, and 
140 never see the Face of any other Man. 

Eugen. I cannot say that of my Colonel, 
because I have a Father, that next to him, I 
love above the World; but I could gladly 
share with him in all his hazards and his toiles. 
145 Clara. That’s a true taking for better for 
worse; — Thou art a brave Heroick Girl; —we 
are both sprung from Soldiers; and methinks 
rather than not be in my Welfords presence, 
I’de lie in Camps without all Covering but 
150 the Skie. 


Scene I] 


)t Volunteers; 


34i 


Eugen. Fd mount a breach with my Colo¬ 
nel. 

Clara. Well said my brave Amazon , — 
With my Welford I could stand a pass, with 
shours of Bullets flying about our Ears, and 15s 
only be concerned, least an unlucky one should 
cut him off*. 

Eugen. Huff! what thou wilt, I am as val¬ 
iant as thy self! And for mine, I would gladly 
intercept the Bullet that would hit him, — Oh 160 
he is the dearest, sweetest Creature, that the 
Earth ever bore. 

Clara. Mine, besides his worth, his Honour, 
and his Fame, with his Person might conquer 
all our Sex. 165 

Eugen. Mine is the glory of his Sex, and the 
delight of ours; his Look, his Miene ! 

Clara. Ah Welford! his Aire! his Shape; 
and his Address — 

Eugen. His Wit, his Sense, — I 7 ° 

Clara. His Courage, and his Gentleness. — 

Eugen. Pray let’s not quarrel, who is most 
charming — 

Clara. They are both best; and I would 
we had ’em each within our Arms. 17s 

Eugen. It were a Joy beyond the World. 

155. shours. D, Showers. 158. EujJ! what. D, Huff what. 


34^ 


©olunteers 


[Act V 


Enter M. G. Blunt. [They squeak. 

M. G. Bl. Ah, — why ’tis not come to that 
yet. — Ye are brave Girls, never blush for the 
matter; — ’Tis natural, — ’tis honest, ’tis dis- 
iSocreet and virtuous. 

Clara. Oh Sir, what Confusion would it 
cause, should you discover one word of this to 
our Lovers ? 

Eugen. As e’er you priz’d your most obedi- 
185 ent Daughter, be secret as a Confessor: — I 
blush to look on you. 

Clara. I never shall behold you more, with¬ 
out such shame as will confound me. — But, 
for Heav’ns sake be secret, Sir. 

190 M. G. Bl. You are foolish Girls; — this is 
an Honour to you. By the Lord Harry , I’ll 
say nothing: — But adod, y’are the bravest- 
mettl’d Girls in Christendome. — Come Lovers, 
enter. [Takes 'em by the Hand. 

[The Women shriek , and endeavour to run away. 

Enter Hackwell jun. and Welford. 

19s Ah-ha, — What a pox do you squeak for ? 
Here’s no Rape intended. No flying, — adod 
you shall stand to’t. 

Eugen. I’ll never forgive you, tho’ you are 
my Father. 


Scene I] 


©olunt m& 


343 


Clara. You had better have staid, and made 200 
me such an account, as Guardians won’t do, — 
than use me thus. 

M. G. Bl. Come adod, I love Plain-dealing, 

— I’d have Love come out like the Small Pox, 
or else ’tis dangerous. 205 

Welf. to Clara. Madam, I never suffer’d 
such Confusion; — I know not what to say or 
think of my surprizing Joy. 

Hack. jun. The Blessing of this minute is so 
high, so ravishing, and extravagant, methinks 210 
I dream. 

Eugen. Methinks you do. Ours was Rail- 
ery ! all Railery; — as if we did not know you 
were in the Closet. 

Clara. Can you imagine otherwise ? Why, 215 
’twas nothing but a Scene well acted betwixt us. 

Welf. It is too much to my advantage, not 
to believe you were in earnest Madam. 

Hack. jun. You will not sure be so cruel! 
to strangle my poor Infant-Hope, and make 220 
me desperate. 

M. G. Bl. Why, you young dissembling 
Sluts! Adod! this is rare Confidence! Do 
you think this will pass upon us ? No, no, the 
Business shall be immediately dispatch’d : — 225 

200. staid. D, stay’d. 


344 


Volunteers 


[Act V 


We’ll first employ an able Lawyer, — and 
then a competent Divine, — that, I warrant 
you, shall make you fast enough, and tye you 
in such a Noose, you shall never riggle out agen. 

Enter Servants holding Sir Timothy Kastril. 

230 I Servant. Hold, hold him fast. 

Sir Tim. Let me go, you Dogs, let me go. 

Enter Sir Nicholas. 

Sir Nich. What’s to do here ? What’s the 
matter ? Why, Sir Timothy , are you out of 
your Princely Wits ? 

235 M. G. Bl. Pox o’ these Puppies, — Must 
they still put a stop to us, when like Chymists 
we are at the moment of Projection ? 

Sir Tim. The matter! why I did but chas¬ 
tise some rude fellows, and these laid hold of 

240 me, and haul’d me in thus. 

M. G. Bl. Let him go: — What’s the 
matter ? 

1 Servant. The matter Sir! why he’ll be 
kill’d in half an hours time, if we let him go: 

245 —Some Masqueraders would have press’d in, 
and he sallies out upon ’em, beats three or four 
of ’em, and runs one through the Arm; and 

229. riggle. D, wriggle. 

240. haul'd. D, hal’d. 


Scene I] 


t Volunteers 


345 


that would not satisfie him, but a rough 
Souldierly man came by, with Whiskers, and 
he pull’d him by a Whisker, — and told him 250 
he did not like his Countenance, and to’t they 
went; — If we had not parted them, one had 
been kill’d. 

M. G. Bl. Why, adod, thou art the 
strangest Orlando Furioso that e’er I knew; — 255 
what Transformation’s this ? 

Sir Nick. Are you not asham’d ? The 
greatest quality of a Beau is to be soft of 
Speech, very gentle and civil of Deportment, 
much joy’d with the Contemplation of himself, 260 
and well pleas’d with others. 

Sir Tim. Pish, Pox of a Beau ! I’ll have 
nothing to do with ’em; nor the Women 
neither; they have used me like a Dog. I 
would go to the War, — but that he that was 26s 
my Tutor, that’s a Non-swearer, has perplex’d 
my Conscience so, that I do not know which side 
to take. — But a Pox on me if I don’t fight at 
home; I am out of humour with the World. 

Sir Nick. For shame, art thou mad ? 270 

Sir Tim. Don’t provoke me to whip you 
through the Body. 

M. G. Bl. By the Lord Harry, Knight, thou 
canst not live a week. [.Fiddles flourish. 


34 6 


Volunteers; 


[Act V 


275 Oh, the Fiddles are yonder! look to the Doors, 
let none in but those you know: These Fiddles 
are Fop-Calls, and Whore-Calls; we shall have 
the Town assemble. Come young fellows, let’s 
go, Faith, I’ll lead you up in a Country Dance 
280 my self. [Exeunt omnes. 

SCENE a Dining-Room* 

Enter Teresia, Winifred, Hop, and Fiddles; to them M. G. 
Blunt, Coll. Hackwel jun., Welford, Sir Nich’las, 
Sir Timothy, Eugenia and Clara. 

M. G. Bl. Come, when shall we begin ? — 
I think we want some of our Company. 

Hop. Pray give me leave Sir, to present 
you with a Maggot of mine. 

285 M. G. Bl. Ha fellow, what dost thou mean 
by a Maggot ? 

Hop. Sir, a little Concern of mine in my 
way, — a little whim, or so sir. 

M. G. Bl. Prithee fellow speak plain Eng- 
290 lish : Adod, I know not what thou mean’st. 

Hop. Why, a little Dance sir, — I have 
all ready. 

M. G. Bl. Why now thou sayest something. 
Let ’em come in. These Dancing-masters and 
295 Fidlers are so devilish witty alwaies ! 

* a Dining-Room. D, a Dancing-Room. 


Scene i] )t ©oluntms 

Enter Hackwel sen. Mrs. Hackwel, and Nickum. 


Oh Collonel, I sent to you : I was afraid you 
would have fail’d me. 

Hack. sen. Save you sir, I look upon Danc¬ 
ing as Vanity, and I crave leave to be absent: 

It is but the Ceremony, I will be present at 300 
the substantial part — your Supper. 

M. G. Bl. Well, well, — you have liberty : 

— The Godly will seldom baulk a lusty Meal; 
they will eat till it flies out at their Mouth, 
Eyes, Ears, and Nostrils. 305 

Sir Tim. I fought with that fellow there, 
that Rogue, that Sharper, and run him over 
and over. [To Sir Nich’las. 

Nickum. I am a Rogue: Now I see ’em, 
my mind misgives me, and I find plainly 1310 
dare not fight. 

Mrs. Hack. What’s the matter? I am 
afraid you are angry. 

Nickum. My Blood rises at these Rogues, 
and I would fain run ’em into the Bowels. 31s 

Mrs. Hack. I’ll keep you under my wing. 

Hack. sen. It seemeth to me, that my 
Lamb is somewhat more concern’d for this 
Nickum than is decent. 


304. out at. D, out of. 


348 ©oluntecta [Act V 

320 M. G. Bl. Come enter. — Where is the 
Dance ? 

Hack. sen. I will retire from these Vanities, 
and give my self to Meditation. [Exit. 

Enter Dancers y and dance. 

M. G. Bl. Pox o’ these Entries, give me 
325 your jolly Country Dance, it puts good Humour 
into us, warms the Ladies, and makes ’em 
kind and coming, young fellows. Hah! we’ll 
fall to that now. 

Mrs. Hack, to Nickum. I cannot dance, and 
330 am afraid the M[ajor]-General will take me 
out: — Let’s retire. [ They sneak out. 

M. G. Bl. Now, young fellows, take out 
your Ladies. 

[A Noise without , Part ’em , part ’em. 

Enter a Servant. 

How now, how now, what’s the matter ? 

33s Serv. The old Cavalier-Gentlemen are fall’n 
out, and will kill one another: — I believe they 
flung all the Bottles at one another, — and 
have fought their way thro’ three Rooms, and 
are fighting their way thro’ this. 


330. M[ajor]. Q, M. 

336, 337. I believe they . . . another. D, omits. 


Scene I] 


Woinnttm 


349 


Teres. Oh, I shall dye, I shall dye, — Save 340 
me, save me. [Runs to Sir Nich. 

JVinif. Oh Mr. Hop save me. 

[Runs to Mr. Hop. 

M. G. Bl. Fear nothing, there’s no danger; 
they have done this three times a week this 
fifty year. 345 

[Cavaliers roar and rant , with their Swords drawn. 

What’s the matter here ? 

1 Caval. This fellow said, He was nearer 
being hang’d for Plots for the King than I was. 

2 Caval. Yes, and more, and better Plots, 

I’ll justifie it; the Major-General knows it. 350 

M. G. Bl. Know, — adod, all the Plots that 
I knew ended in being damnable drunk; and I 
believe you drank and spew’d in the King’s 
Service as much as most. 

1 Caval. He that says he was as near being 355 
hang’d for the King as I, lies. 

Sir Tim. Look ye Sir, you lye, you both 
lye, and you all lye; and if you have a mind to 
fight, — I’ll fight with you all round. 

M. G. Bl. Fools, put up your Swords; and 360 
for you Knight , I shall send for a Constable, if 
you will not be quiet: Go, go and drink Friends, 
till you can’t speak, and then you’l be good 
Company. 


[Act V 


350 ®fje ©olunteer* 

36s 1 Caval. Sir, you are my Officer, and I’ll 

obey. 

2 Caval. I honour my Officer. 

[.Exeunt Cavaliers. 
Sir Nich. Look you, Sir Timothy , I brought 
you into this Family, you dishonour me, if you 
370 disturb it, and I’ll cut your Throat. 

Sir Tim. No more, Let this be somewhat 
between you and me. 

M. G. Bl. Come, come, — take out your 
Ladies: — Adod, I have lost my Mate; but 
375 here’s a pretty young Wench, a very good ex¬ 
change, Ifaith. 

[He takes Lettice, Sir Nich’las Teresia, Wel- 
ford Clara, Hack. jun. Eugenia. 

Sir Tim. to Winif. I shall remember you, — 
but I’ll do you the honour to dance with you. 
Winif. I scorn to join Hands with such a 
380 fellow, upon any occasion : Sweet Mr. Hop , — 
you are my Mate. 

Sir Tim. Why you impudent Rascal, dare 
you take out an unmannerly Slut, that has 
refus’d me, and think your self fit to dance with 
385 Gentlemen ? 

[Breaks Hop’s Head , Hop pulls out his Hand¬ 
kerchief to wipe the Blood , drops a Paper , 
Clara takes it up. 


Scene I] 


1 &\)t Volunteers; 


35i 


Winif . Oh sweet Mr. Hop! Oh, look to 
Mr. Hop. 

M. G. Bl. Thou Knight! Thou Puppy, I 
could find in my Heart to have my Servants 
fling thee out of the Window, — for affronting 390 
me in this manner. 

Sir Tim. Well, — he shall be the next to 
Sir Nich’las. [Aside. 

Clara to M. G. Blunt. Sir, Sir, look what here 
is, which this same Hop has drop’d, a Paper 39s 
with half a broad Piece, and a Contract penn’d 
by that sweet Lady, my Sister-in-Laws own 
Hand; a Contract with this compleat Gentle¬ 
man Mr. Hop. [Blunt takes it from her. 

Winif. Mercy on me! we are undone; 400 
give me my Paper. 

M. G. Bl. I beg your Pardon, I will shew 
it to my Neighbor the Collonel. Ha Tom! 
this will be of use, Ifaith. — Did I not say she 
would take up with a Groom ? This indeed is 405 
somewhat higher. 

Sir Tim. What, is your Ladiships haughty 
person dispos’d of to a Dancing-master ? 

Sir Nich. Is the terrible scornful Lady taken 
up with a Dancing-master? Mrs. Hop , your410 
Servant Mrs. Hop . 


352 ®t)e Wolnnttm [actv 

Clara. Sister, I wish you Joy with your 
Caperer. 

Teres. Oh that so fine a person should be so 
415 cast away ! I grieve for thee, my Dear. 

Winif. Curse on ’em all, — I’ll carry it off. 

[Aside. 

Look you, all at once, that there has not only 
been a Contract, but the Marriage has been 
celebrated between this Dear Creature — and 
420 my self. I think him the finest Gentleman in 
England , and there’s an end on’t. Come, my 
Dear, let’s go. 

Sir Tim. Dost thou hear, scornful Lady, 
Mrs. Hop ? — I could find in my Heart to cut 
425 thy Rogues back-Sinews, and spoil his capering; 
— but every time I meet him — I will kick 
him thus. 

Winif. He’s a Coward, Nickum beat him 
before me, and he never resisted. 

430 Hop. Say you so ? Have at you Sir. 

[Sir Tim. and Hop draw; Sir Tim. whips up 

Hop’s heels , and disarms him; Women shriek 

and run away. Exit Hop. 

Sir Tim. Go, get you gone, with another 
Kick for a Pass. — Hah — Gentlemen ! Your 
Judgment! Don’t I fight pretty well ? — Hah, 
Major-General, Sir Nicholas , Colonel ? 


Scene I] 


Wcp iBolunteera 


353 


All. Very well, — very well. 

M. G. Bl. We shall dance the merrier, for 
this Interruption, I warrant you. — Here — 
Who waits ? 

Enter Servant. 

I Servant. I am here Sir. 

M. G. Bl. Where is the old Colonel ? 
i Servant. He is not gone out of the House, 

— but he is in none of the usual Rooms — 
where the Lights are. 

M. G. Bl. Come, come, let’s find him out; 

— And let him know this joyful News. 

Hack. jun. Nothing could have happen’d 

so luckily as this. 

Welf. Yes, — if he had discover’d his Wife, 
as we have done her Daughter. [Exeunt omnes. 

The SCENE a Dark Room 

Enter Colonel Hackwel Senior. 

Hack. sen. I have gotten pretty well out 
of the Paper, and other Patents, and made a 
pretty Sum of them : — I have shares in some 
that cost me nothing, but were given me to 
prevent my Caveats: those I’ll keep a while, 
but for the Linnen, we have agreed when that 


435 

440 

445 

450 

455 


[Act V 


354 ®tie Volunteer* 

shall rise, — and then I’ll wriggle my self out 
of that. 


Enter Nickum and Mrs. Hackwel. 

Mrs. Hack. I thought we should never have 
found a private Room, all are so full of Lights 
460 this Night. 

Nickum. This is to our purpose, — my 
dear Madam. 

Hack. sen. Bless me! What do I hear, 
Nickum and my Lamb ? [Aside. 

465 Mrs. Hack. Have not I brought my old 
Fool to a fine pass? I’ll never leave him now, 
till he settles all his Estate unsettled upon me, 
and afterwards upon my Daughter. — He has 
promis’d, — and then I’ll make thy Fortune. 
470 Hack. sen. I am confounded, most exceed¬ 
ingly abash’d. 

Nick. Thou dear sweet Lady of my Soul 
and Body, — I am not worthy of thee; but 
methinks it is a great part of the Pleasure, to 
475 consider how fond, how silly, and how credulous 
these poor Cuckolds are. 

Hack. sen. Is it so, Devil Incarnate ? 

Mrs. Hack. Ah, ah, we are undone, utterly 
lost, kill him, kill him. 

464. [Aside]. Q, D, omitted. 


Scene I] 


®t)e Volunteers? 


3SS 


Hack. sen. Rouze Old Man within me. 480 
Hah! I see a glimmering of a Light. 

Nick. Have at your Bowels. 

[Nickum runs at him , he runs him hy and lays 
him on: and cuts him back Szvord way> and 
beats him about the Rome. 

Enter M. G. Blunt, Collonel Hack. jun., Welford : Servants 
and Lights. 

Hack. jun. Heaven, my Father engag’d ? 

Hack. sen. Stand by — let me alone with 
him. — 48s 

M. G. Bl. What’s the matter man ? By my 
troth, I think thou art as pretty a Fellow with 
a Sword in thy hand; — And lay’st about thee 
as thou didst 50 year ago. 

Hack. Sen. The matter: That fellow is the490 
lewdest son of Belial; And my Spouse the most 
ungracious Jezabel on the Earth. They have 
made me that profain filthy and unclean Beast 
call’d a Cuckold: And in this dark Room, 
little knowing I was here: they boasted and 495 
gloried in the Fact: And when I discover’d 
my self they would have kill’d me. 

Hack. jun. O horrible Villany! Secure 
this Dog in some place, He shall not scape. 

482. Rome. D, Room. 

493. profain. D, profane. 


356 


®iie ©olunteers 


[Act V 


soo Nick. I feel my blood trickling — I beleive 
you have kill’d me. 

M. G. Bl. Come my old Soldier, — Com¬ 
fort thy self: Cuckoldum is no dishonour in 
our Country: But we shall have another dis- 
5°5 covery for you and your sweet Lady. Thy 
Daughter Winifred has confess’d She is marry’d 
to Hop the Dancing-Master — his head was 
broke; and taking his Handkercheif to wipe 
the blood — He dropt the Contract with this 
Siohalf broad Peice in’t. 

Mrs. Hack. This is a most compleat Ruin. 
I will hide my head in some dark hole, and 
never see the light again. 

[. Exeunt Mrs. Hack. 

Hack. sen. Let her go! And for the other 
515 peice of vanity she’s aptly dispos’d of. 

M. G. Bl. Go, call all the Company — lets 
into the great Room : and we will Rejoyce this 
Night, for all this. [Exeunt Servants first. 

[Then Exeunt all the Rest. 

Enter M. G. Blunt, Collonel Hackwell sen., Hackwell 
Juni[o)r , Welford, Sir Nich’las, Sir Timothy Kastril, 
Teres[ia], Eugenia and Clara. 

Hack. sen. Son and Daughter, give me your 

508, 510. Handkerchief . . . Peice. D, Handkerchief . . . Piece. 

515. Peice. D, piece. 

Si8. Juni[o]r. Q, Junier. Teres[ia\. Q, Teres. 


Scene I] 


®tie Volunteers 


357 


hands, I have been led away by a wicked 520 
Instrument, to injure you both ; I was poison’d 
with lyes: And I have discover’d her, and her 
wicked falsehood: And have put her away, 
Repenting me that ever I took her unto Wife: 
And I desire you will forgive me. 525 

Clara. What happy change is this ? [Aside. 
Hack. jun. Pardon me Sir, for all that I 
have offended you in. I desire now, nothing 
but your favour, which I so long in vain have 
sought. 530 

Clara. If I regain your favour, I shall 
reckon this the happiest day of all my Life. 

Hack. sen. You have it both of you; and I 
will make some amends, and verily you shall 
find it. 535 

M. G. Bl. Look thee my old Acquaintance : 
we have another discovery to make to you; — 
When you had cast your Son and Daughter 
out, I undertook to serve them: — And for 
your Son, I have provided this Daughter for 540 
a Wife; — And for your Daughter, that Gentle¬ 
man, Mr. Welfordy (whose Fortune and Family 
you know) for a Husband. 

Hack. sen. I profess I am very greatly 
bound unto you : Good Major-General: And 545 
I am so abundantly satisfi’d in the Wisdom of 


358 


®l)e Volunteers 


[Act V 


your Disposal, that I look upon it as a great 
and signal Dispensation unto me and mine, 
and for settlement, I will do what you shall 

550 approve. 

M. G. Bl. That’s well, now we come to a 
point. — Well Pupil! how are you now agreed ? 

Teres . I have that duty to my Father,— 
That I never can resist his pleasure. 

555 Sir Nich. I must do, what Love and Hon¬ 
our oblige me to! Madam, you have won me 
from all the Ladies in the Town — You will 
be envy’d, and I shall be laugh’d at — But 
Jacta est Ale a. 

560 Sir Tim. What a Devil am I here ? I am 
no body: I must fight or marry or lye with 
some body, — But a Pox on’t, now I think on’t, 
I’ll Beau it no longer — But turn Whore- 
master. 

565 Clara. Sir, I beseech you let me have Lettice 
with me. She’s a very Good Girle. 

Hack. sen. O yes, thou wert wrong’d, — 
much wrong’d. 

M. G. Bl. Come on my pair Royal — I’ll 

570 lead you up a Country-Dance. And then to 
Supper: And the whole House shall ring. 
Come my young partner — Colonel — Thou 
shall stay and see this Adod. 


Scene I] 


®t )t Volunteer* 


359 


Hack. sen. I will for once. 

M. G. Bl. To morrow the Lawyers shall to 575 
work: Articles shall be sign’d and Bonds 
given. And the next day we will have a pretty 
nimble Divine. 

Clara. Why such haste ? 

Eugen. Sir, Consider a little. 580 

M. G. Bl. No more, you little jilting, dis¬ 
sembling sluts! By the Lord Harry, it shall 
be so: Take ’em by the hands. 

Hack. jun. My joy is so transporting — 
That I am besides my self. 585 

Welf. And mine is so beyond all bounds; 

— I shall not endeavour to express it. 

[The Fiddels strike up, and they Dance. 

M. G. Bl. Wee’l dedicate this Night, to 
Mirth and Joy: And may you all have cause 
for’t ever after: And now, my old Neighbour, 590 
who ever marries a second Wife, — When he 
has a good Brood at first, which is like to be his 
best Brood : 

By her abus'd and jilted, Friend, like thee, 

Let him a most Notorious Cuckold he. 595 

FINIS 

587. Fiddels. D, Fiddles. 


3 6 o 


©olunteers 

The Epilogue, 

Spoken by one in deep Mourning. 

Enough of Mirth, the Sportive Scene is done , 

And a new doleful Theme is coming on: 

These Sable Robes, at Plays so seldom worn , 

Do silently express the loss we mourn: 

5 SHADWELL the great Support oth* Comick Stage, 
Born to expose the Follies of the Age: 

To whip prevailing Vices, and unite 
Mirth with Instruction, Profit with Delight: 

For large Idea’s and a flowing Pen, 
io First of our Times, and second but to Ben : 

Whose mighty Genius and discerning Mind, 

Trac'd all the various Humours of Mankind; 
Dressing them up with such successful Care, 

That ev'ry Fop found his own Picture there: 

15 And blush'd for shame at the surprizing Skill, 

Which made his lov'd Resemblance look so ill: 
SHADWELL, who all his Lines from Nature drew , 
Copy d her out, and kept her still in view: 

Who never sunk in Prose, nor soar'd in Verse, 

20 So high as Bombast, or so low as Farce: 

Who ne're was brib'd by Title or Estate, 

To fawn and flatter with the Rich or Great; 

To let a gilded Vice or Folly pass. 

But always lash'd the Villain and the Ass. 

25 Many within this crowded Pit I see, 

Friends to our Author and his Memory: 


®l)f ©oluntftrs 


3 61 


To them he leaves , to cherish and maintain 
The last and youngest Offspring of his Brain: 

By your just Care of this , you best will show 
The kind Respect you to its Parent owe. 

Crown you his last Performance with Applause , 
Who love , like him , our Liberties and Laws. 

Let but the honest Party do him Right , 

And their loud Claps will give him Fame , in spight 
Of the faint Hiss of grumbling Jacobite. 


jl5ote$ to the a&oluuteerg 

Of the first performance of The Volunteers , an anon¬ 
ymous writer in the Gentleman s Journal for November, 
1692 (probably published early in the following month), 
has the following note at the end of his obituary notice 
before mentioned (Introduction, page lx) : 

The Comedy which, as I told you, he design’d for 
the Stage was acted since his decease: ’tis call’d the 
Volunteers; and though that Orphan wanted its 
Parent to support it, yet it came off with reasonable 
success. 

It may be presumed therefore that it ran for at least 
three nights, the third being regularly for the author’s 
benefit; in this case, for Shadwell’s widow. Downes 
makes no mention of the piece in Roscius Anglicanus, 
and it appears that no revival took place until July, 
1711, when it was advertised as being “Not acted 
these Twenty Years.” During this season it was per¬ 
formed 25 and 27 July, 10 August, and 22 October. No 
later performances are known. 

TITLE PAGE 

Historiographer Royal, a sinecure office, usually com¬ 
bined with the laureateship, for which £200 per annum 
was the salary, included in the £300 emoluments paid 
362 


Jiotetf 


363 


to Shadwell. His successor in the office of laureate, 
Nahum Tate, was not, however, appointed historiog¬ 
rapher; this office was given to Thomas Rhymer. 
(S. P. Dom. 8 December, 1692.) 

DEDICATION 

206, 17 . Your Presence. It is not known whether 
the Queen was present when the play was produced, 
but it is of interest to note that the poet’s salary was 
paid to his executors for the widow for the year follow¬ 
ing his death. {Hist. MSS. Comm. Rep. I, New Ser., 
90.) 

A PROLOGUE 

207, 11 . Towring Bombast, creeping farce. Shad- 

well throughout his career as a dramatist expressed his 
contempt for Heroic Tragedy and mere farcelike plays. 
(See Introduction, pages xxii, xxxiv.) 

PROLOGUE BY MR. DURFEY 

209, (Heading) Mr. Durfey. Thomas D’Urfey 
(1653-1723), author of a large number of comedies, be¬ 
ginning with Madam Fickle or the Witty False One (D. 
G. November, 1676), two or three tragedies and a few 
operatic pieces. His earlier comedies are mainly of the 
farcical type; the later, of which The Richmond Heiress 
(D. L. March, 1693) is a good example, reflect the 
growing taste for sentimentalism. 

210, 30. Protestant true blew. The subtitle of 
Dryden’s Mac Flecknoe is A Satyr on the True-Blew- 
Protestant Poet , T. S., alluding to Shadwell’s Protestant- 


3 6 4 


jpotes 


Whig principles, as opposed to Dryden’s High-Church- 
Tory principles. 

DRAMATIS PERSONS 

211 , 13. Reduction of Ireland, referring to Crom¬ 
well’s campaign in 1649, when Drogheda and Wexford 
were stormed. 

212 , 45. Mrs. Bracegirdle, the most famous actress 
of the latter part of the seventeenth century and the 
early years of the eighteenth. 

55. Penkethman, or Pinkethman, became the most 
popular of farcical or harlequin actors. This must 
have been one of his earliest appearances on the stage. 

ACT I —SCENE I 

214 , 20. wears the Breeches, rules the household; 
or, has a strong masculine will. 

216 , 79. Hockley in the Hole, a notorious district 
memorable for its bear-garden, near Clerkenwell, North 
of the city. See The Spectator , Nos. 31, 436. 

218 , 118. flye from the University. Royalist sym¬ 
pathizers were ejected from Oxford on n June, 1644, 
after Charles I’s army had been defeated at Marston 
Moor. 

218 , 129-130. Smithfield, horse fair and cattle- 
market, within a mile of St. Paul’s. 

228 , 390. Grand Lewis, Louis XIV of France. 

229 , 411. Monstrat . . . jubet, He bids them not, 
but shows them how to toil. Lucan, Pharsalia, IX. 

231 , 456. scornful Lady, alluding, no doubt, to Beau¬ 
mont and Fletcher’s The Scornful Lady , a comedy fre¬ 
quently revived in the period. 


jpotest 


365 


SCENE II 

233, 497 . two half broad pieces, a coin was broken in 
halves as a sign of plighted troth. The custom still 
lingers in some districts. 

239, 646. the Linnen Manufacture, stimulated by 
Huguenot exiles after the Edict of Nantes, 1685. 

648 . Stockjobbing, described in the Dictionary of 
the Canting Crew ( ca . 1720) as “ a sharp, cunning, cheat¬ 
ing Trade of Buying and Selling Shares of Stock in 
East-India, Guinea and other Companies; also in the 
Bank, Exchequer etc.” See also II, i, 648 , note. 

663. Mons, &. Battles recently fought in the War 
of the Grand Alliance formed by William with Holland 
and the Empire against France. 


ACT II —SCENE I 

249, 62. scornful Lady. See I, i, 456, note. 

256, 231. Mall, the fashionable thoroughfare between 
Whitehall and Hyde Park. 

259, 323. St. James’ Square, the Court district. 

330. Musick meeting. Concerts of what would 

now be termed “ chamber music ” became very fashion¬ 
able in Restoration times. See Pepys’ Diary , 5 October, 
1664; 1 October, and 16 November, 1667. 

260, 333-334. Wits Coffee-house. Probably Will’s 
Coffeehouse, also known as The Rose , at the western 
corner of Bow Street, Covent Garden ; the most famous 
of the coffeehouses. 

343 . Wit Office, apparently a facetious title given to 
Will’s Coffeehouse. 


366 


jpotes 


262 , 384-385. Monstrum horrendum. Dreadful 

monstrosity. From Virgil’s ASneid , III, describing 
Cyclops Polyphemus, after his one eye had been put 
out by Ulysses with a red-hot spit. 

271 , 627-628. Marston-Moore. The famous victory 
of Cromwell’s Ironsides against Prince Rupert, 2 July, 
1644. 

272 , 648. Patents . . . sollicking. The term “ stock- 
jobbing ” was applied to this practice as well as to the 
business before mentioned; see I, i, 648, note. It will 
be noted that the part given to the stockjobbers is 
scarcely so large as to justify the use of the name in the 
subtitle of the play. 

273 , 676-677. Chinese Rope-Dancers. These per¬ 
formers had actually been brought over to take part in 
the masque at the end of The Fairy Queen , the operatic 
version of A Midsummer Night's Dream acted at 
Drury Lane about April, 1692. 

274 , 691. a great Vertuoso. Shadwell had worked 
up this humor for his comedy The Virtuoso , D. G. May, 
1676. See Introduction, page xlviii et seq. 

ACT III —SCENE I 

276 , 24. Edge-hill, the first battle of the Civil War 
fought with indecisive result, 23 October, 1642. 

24. Brentford, another indecisive battle, fought 
12 November, 1642. General Blunt evidently thought 
that it was one of the last battles of the war. 

288 , 338-339. trail . . . Rampant, marry a virago. 

296 , 506. an old Shooe. It is still the practice in 
some places to throw an old shoe after a newly wedded 
couple, or to tie it on the back of the carriage to 


i] 5 otc 0 


367 


bring good luck. In former days the custom was not 
restricted to marriages. 

297, 547-550. This remark of Sir Nicholas Dainty’s 
seems to introduce a new note of restraint unknown to 
the earlier fops; but perhaps it is ironical. 

564. second Naseby, fought 14 June, 1645, where 
the decisive defeat was inflicted on Charles by Fairfax 
and Cromwell. 

299, 604-605. Love and Honour. See note to 
Epsom Wells , I, i, 558. 

ACT IV —SCENE I 

304, 45. & propos. See note to Epsom Wells , I, i, 
711. It is to be observed that the use of French terms 
is much rarer in the present play. 

308, 128-129. Cum . . . est. A tag from Lilly’s 

Latin Grammar , ed. C. Hoole, who translates: “with 
many more, which would bee long to set down.” (Cf. ed. 
1653, pp. 32, 33.) 

312, 223-225. Win the Fight . . . Fight a Good 
Fight. The old Puritans affected such biblical phrases 
for their Christian names. 

316, 330. Bridewell. Originally a royal palace (the 
probable scene of Henry VIII , I and III); used in Res¬ 
toration period as a house of correction for recalcitrant 
city apprentices and other offenders. 

317, 360. Hudibras. The hero of Samuel Butler’s 
famous satire. In Part II, Canto I, 209-210, occurs a 
couplet to which Nickum may allude: 

Then how is’t possible a kick 

Should e’re reach that way to the quick ? 


3 68 


Jiotes 

SCENE II 


326, 572 . the last Newbury fight. The second battle 
of Newbury, fought to save London from the king, 
with indecisive results, was fought 27 October, 1644. 

327, 590. Smithfield. See I, i, 129, 130, note. 

ACT V —SCENE I 

343, 203. Plain-dealing. A term made popular by 
Wycherley’s comedy, The Plain Dealer (D. L. Decem¬ 
ber, 1676). In the prologue to Bury Fair (D. L. April, 
1689), Shadwell plays tribute to The Plain-Dealer 
(Manly, and also applied to Wycherley himself) along 
with other famous characters of the earlier Comedies 
of the Restoration. Plain-dealing was also the name 
of a card game, described in The Compleat Gamester , 
142. 

344, 236-237. like Chymists . . . Projection, refer¬ 
ring to the astrological experiments of the alchemists. 

346, 255. Orlando Furioso. The subject of Ariosto’s 
romantic epic, of which English translations long re¬ 
mained popular. 

358, 555-556. Love and Honour. See note to Ep¬ 
som Wells , I, i, 558-559. 

559. Jacta est alea, The die is cast; said by Julius 
Caesar, at the crossing of the Rubicon. 


UMbltographP 

TEXTS 

A. Epsom Wells 

1673 , 4to. EPSOM-WELLS. A Comedy, Acted at the 
Duke’s Theatre. Written by Tho. Shadwell 
[Greek motto] Licensed, Feb. 17, 1672-3 Roger 

L'Estrange. London, Printed by J. M. for Henry 
Herringman at the Sign of the Blew Anchor in the 
Lower Walk of the New Exchange, [p. 98, Errata.] 

1676 , 4to. Same as 1673 entry, with Errata corrected. 

1693 , 4to. EPSOM-WELLS. A Comedy. As it is Acted 
by their Majesties Servants . . . Printed for H. Her¬ 
ringman and Sold by R. Bentley, J. Tons on, F. Saun¬ 
ders, and T. Bennet. 

1704 , 4to. EPSOM-WELLS ... A Comedy, Acted at the 
Duke’s Theatre : . . . . Printed for R. Wellington 
at the Dolphin and Crown the West-end of St. Paul’s- 
Church-Yard. 

1720 , i2mo. The Dramatick Works of Thomas Shad- 
well , Esq.; In Four Volumes. London: Printed 
for J. Knapton , at the Crown in St. Paul’s Church- 
Yard, and J. Tons on, at Shakespear’s Head over-against 
Katharine-Street in the Strand. [Epsom Wells in 
Volume II.] 

1927 , Folio. The Complete Works of Thomas Shadwell. 
Edited by Montague Summers. Five Volumes, 
[Epsom Wells in Volume II.] 

369 


370 Bibltograpljv 

B. The Volunteers 

1693 , 4to. The Volunteers or The STOCK JOB¬ 
BERS. A Comedy, As it is Acted by Their 
Majesties Servants, At The Theatre Royal. Written 
by Tho. Shadwell, Esq; Late Poet-Lawreat, 
and Historiographer Royal. Being his last Play. 
London, Printed for James Knapton, at the 
Crown in St. Paul's Church-yard. 1693. Where are 
also to be had all Mr. Shadwell's 17 Plays, etc. Bound 
up, or single. 

1720 , i2mo. The Dramatick Works &c. Vol. IV. 

1927 , Folio. The Complete Works, &c. Vol. V. 

WORKS BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL 

1668 . An Essay of Dramatick Poesy. John Dryden. 

- A Defence of An Essay of Dramatique Poesie. Pre¬ 
fixed to the Second Edition of The Indian Emperor . 
John Dryden. 

1671 . An Evening's Love or The Mock Astrologer , Preface. 
John Dryden. 

1674 . Notes and Observations on the Empress of Morocco. 
Ascribed to Dryden, Crowne and Shadwell. 

- Notes and Observations on the Empress of Morocco 

Revised. Elkanah Settle. 

1676 . Love and Revenge. Postscript. Elkanah Settle. 
- Theatrum Poetarum. Edward Phillips, Part II, 

p. 183. 

1677 . A Session of the Poets , printed in Poems on Several 
Occasions , Written by a late Person of Honour. (Earl 
of Rochester) 1685. p. 101. 

- Ibrahim , or The Illustrious Bassa, Preface. E. 

Settle. 


Btbltograpln* 


37 i 


- An Allusion to Horace, the Tenth Satyr of the 1st 

Book, in Poems on Several Occasions (1685). Earl of 
Rochester, p. 36. 

1680 . Sonnetto al Signor Tomaso Shadzvel Poeto Dignis- 
simo. In Songs Set to Music. Part II, p. 12. 
Pietro Reggio. 

1682 . The Loyal Protestant. No. 102, 12 Jan.; No. 114, 
9 Feb. 

- The Impartial Protestant Mercury. No. 80, Tu. 24 

Jan. to Fri. 27 Jan. 

- The True Protestant Mercury. No. 113. Wed. 1 

Feb. to Sat. 4 Feb. 

- Mac Flecknoe; or A Satyr on the True-Blew-Protes¬ 
tant Poet, T. S. By the Author of Absalom and Achito- 
phel. John Dryden. 

- The Second Part of Absalom and Achitophel, a Poem. 

Lines 457-491. John Dryden. 

1683 . Some Reflections upon the Pretended Parallel in the 
Play called The Duke of Guise. Ascribed to Thomas 
Hunt, Shadwell and Settle. 

- The Vindication of The Duke of Guise. John Dryden. 

1687 . The Tenth Satyr of Juvenal, English and Latin, the 
English by Tho. Shadwell. Dedication. (To Sir 
Charles Sedley) 

- The Lives of the most Famous English Poets, or the 

Honour of Parnassus. William Winstanley, p. 216. 

1690 . De La Come die Angloise, in (Euvres Meslees de Mr. 
de Saint-Evremont (Marguetel de Saint-Denis), Paris, 
1690, Tome II, p. 577. 

1691 . An Account of the English Dramatick Poets, G. Lang- 
baine, pp. 442-453 ; and Appendix. 

1692 . The Gentleman's Journal, November, p. 21. Ed. 
Peter Motteux. 


Btbltograplnj 


372 

1693 . A Sermon Preached At the Funeral of Thomas Shad- 
well, Esq. Late Poet-Laureat, and Historiographer- 
Royal, who was Interred at Chelsea, November, 24, 
1692. By Nicholas Brady, Minister of St. Catharine 
Cree-Church, and Chaplain to his Grace the Duke of 
Ormond. 

1696 . A Dedication designed to The Volunteers. By Mrs. 
Shadwell. To the Queen. Written by Mr. Dennis. 
In Letters Upon Several Occasions. Written by and 
between Mr. Dry den, Mr. Congreve, Mr. Wycherley 
. . . and Mr. Dennis, p. 129. 

1699 . The Lives and Characters of the English Dramatick 
Poets . . . First begun by Mr. Langbain, improv’d and 
continued down to this time, by a Careful Hand (Charles 
Gildon). pp. 124-126. 

1702 . A Comparison Between the Two Stages, ascribed, 
probably erroneously, to Charles Gildon. p. 57. 

1704 . A Tryal of the Poets for the Bays ... By the 
Duke of Buckingham, a version of A Session of the 
Poets, usually ascribed to Rochester (see above 1676). 
In Miscellaneous Works, by George, Duke of Bucking¬ 
ham. p. 41. See also in the same volume A Consola¬ 
tory Epistle to Captain Julian (p. 20); and Timon, a 
Satyr (p. 53). 

1707 . The Muses Mercury, January, pp. 3, 4. 

1708 . Roscius Anglic anus. J. Downes. Ed. M. Sum¬ 
mers, 1928. 

- A New View of London. Edward Hatton. Vol. II, 

Supplement, pp. 822-823. 

1711 . The Spectator, No. 35, Tues. 10 April, Joseph 
Addison. No. 141, Sat. 11 Aug., Richard Steele. 

1721 . Athence Oxonienses. Anthony a Wood. Ed. P. 
Bliss. 1815-1820. Ill, Col. 809; IV, Cols. 84 and 684. 


BibltograptiE 373 

1722 . Antiquities of St. Peter s, or the Abbey Church of 
Westminster (J. Crull), Vol. II, 41-45. 

1723 . The Poetical Register. Giles Jacob. Vol. I, 222. 
1731 . Considerations on the Stage. T. Cooke, pp. 58-63. 
1738 . The Gentleman s Magazine. May, p. 235. See 

also 1745, February, p. 99. 

1740 . An Apology for his Life , C. Cibber, pp. 57, 88, 92. 
1747 . The Dramatick List , appended to Scanderbeg , A 
Tragedy. T. Whincop. pp. 283, 284. 

1753 . The Lives of the Poets. Theophilus Cibber. Vol. 
Ill, pp. 48, 49. 

1760 . Poetical Works. T. Brown. 9th edition. Vol. IV, 
pp. 92, 93 - 

1763 . Biographia Britannica. Andrew Kippis. Vol. VI, 
3624-3627. 

1764 . A Companion to the Playhouse. D. E. Baker; 2nd 
edition entitled Biographia , Dramatica, 1782, Vol. II, 
400-401. 

1785 . Dramatic Miscellanies. T. Davies. Vol. Ill, 249. 
1800 . A Complete History of the Stage. C. Dibdin. 
Vol. IV, 181-182. 

- The Prose Works of John Dry den , ed. E. Malone. 

Vol. I, Part I, pp. 163-165, 169, 205, 209. 

1805 . History of Norfolk. F. Blomefield. Vol. II, 167; 
Vol. VI, 197. 

1806 . Biographical History of England , M. Noble. Vol. I, 
2SS- 

1808 . Works of John Dryden. 15 vols. Ed. Sir Walter 
Scott; reedited by G. Saintsbury, 1882, etc. 

1812 . Literary Anecdotes of the XVIIIth Century. J. 

Nichols. Vol. I, 5 ; see also Vol. VIII (1814), 353. 
1821 . On the Alleged Decline of Dramatic Writing. Anon. 
In Blackwood's Magazine , IX, 279-285. 


374 


iBtbltosrapin? 


1828 . On Shadw ell’s Comedies. Anon. In The Retrospec¬ 
tive Review, 2nd Series, Vol. II, 55-96. 

1831 . Peveril of the Peak. Sir Walter Scott. Note to 
ch. IV; see also The Fortunes of Nigel , ed. 1896, pp. 
xii and 448. 

1832 . Some Account of the English Stage from 1660 to 1850. 
J. Genest. 10 Vols. Vol. II, 40; Vol. Ill, 106, 144. 

1849 . The Lancashire Witches , Harrison Ainsworth. 

1850 . Diary of John Evelyn. Ed. W. Bray. 4 Vols. 
Vol. II, 211 (16 Feb. 1685). 

1853 . The Lives of the Poets Laureate. W. S. Austin and 
J. Ralph, pp. 183-195. 

1855 . History of England from the Accession of James II. 
T. B. Macaulay. 6 vols. Ed. C. H. Firth, 1913-1915 ; 
Vol. IV, 2029-2030; Vol. V, 2280. 

1871 . Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, Vol. VII, 3. See 
also Eighth Series, Vol. IV (1893), pp. 109, no; and 
Vol. 146 (1924), p. 273. 

1873 . Article on Thomas Shadwell , in The New Monthly 
Magazine, New Series, Vol. Ill, 292-297; 353-361. 
1875 . A History of English Dramatic Literature to the Death 
of Queen Anne, 2 Vols. Sir A. W. Ward ; 3rd edition 
1899, 3 Vols., Vol. Ill, 458 etc. 

1878 . John Dryden (“English Men of Letters” Series). 
G. Saintsbury, p. 72 etc. 

1879 . The Poets Laureate of England. W. Hamilton. 

1882 . A New History of the English Stage. 2 Vols., P. H. 

Fitzgerald. 

1886 , etc. Collections for a History of Staffordshire. 
(William Salt Archaeological Society), 18 Vols. Vol. 
VII, part II, no; Vol. XI, 288-289; Vol. XIII, 279. 

1887 . Admissions to Gonville and Caius College Cambridge. 
Ed. J. Venn and S. C. Venn, pp. 239, 240. 


iJtbltograptjv 


375 


1891 . New Grub Street. G. Gissing. Chapter III. 

1897 . Le Public et les Hommes de Lettres en Angleterre au 
XFII e Siecle, Paris. 

- Dictionary of National Biography, LI, 340-343 ; 

reissue, 1909, XVII, 1278-1281. (G. A. Aitken.) 

1903 . Diary of Samuel Pepys. Ed. H. B. Wheatley. 9 
Vols. 

-- The Term Catalogue. Ed. Arber. 

- Thomas Shadwell. (Mermaid edition of The 

Sullen Lovers, A True Widow, The Squire of Alsatia, 
Bury Fair), ed. G. Saintsbury, with introduction, pp. 
xi-xxviii. 

1904 . Did Shadwell write an Opera on The Tempest? 
W. J. Lawrence. In Anglia, XXVII; see also XXIX 
(1906); The Athenaeum, 25 August, 1906 (art. by Sir 
E. Clark); The Elizabethan Playhouse, W. J. Law¬ 
rence, 1st Series, 1912, pp. 193-206 (a reprint of his 
article in Anglia); Dryden as an Adapter of Shakespeare, 
A. Nicoll (Shakespeare Association Pamphlets, No. 
VIII, 1922); arts, in Times Literary Supplement, 14 
and 21 February, 1924; in The Review of English 
Studies, I (1925), 327-330; II (1926), 463-466 and 
III (1927), 204-208; 451 - 453 - 

- Middle Temple Records. Ed. C. H. Hopwood. Vol. 

II, 880; Vol. Ill (1905), 1125. 

1906 . UInfluence Fran^aise en Angleterre au XVII e Siecle, 
L. Charlanne. Paris. 

- Les Sources du Theatre Anglais. W. K. Harvey 

Jellie. 

1907 . Moliere and Restoration Comedy in England. W. 
Moseley Kerby. Rennes (Privately printed). 

1908 . Bury St. Edmunds Grammar School Records, Suffolk 
Green Books, No. XIII, 346, 454. 






37 6 i3tbltogiapl)S 

1910 . The Influence of Moliere on Restoration Comedy. 
D. H. Miles. 

- Elkanah Settle y His Life and Works. F. C. Brown, 

(Chicago). 

- Poetical Works of John Dryden. J. Sargeaunt. 

1912 . The Cambridge History of English Literature , Vol. 
VIII, 173, 174 - 

1913 . Moliere en Angleterre , 1660-1670. J. E. Gillett 
(Memoires de l’Academie Royale de Belgique, II m * 
serie, tome IX, Bruxelles). 

- The Comedy of Manners. J. Palmer. 

- The Stationers' Register. Privately published for 

the Roxburghe Club. 

1914 . English Drama of the Restoration and the XVllIth 
Century. G. H. Nettleton. 

1920 . The Poetry of John Dryden. M. Van Doren. 
(Appendix on the authorship of Mac Flecknoe.) 

1921 . The Laureateship. E. K. Broadus. pp. 74-88. 
- Shakespeare from Betterton to Irving. G. C. D. 

Odell. 2V0IS. 

1922 . A History of Restoration Drama , 1660 - 1700 . Allar- 
dyce Nicoll. New edition, 1928. 

- Shakespeare to Sheridan. A. Thaler. 

- Alumni Cantabrienses. Ed. J. and J. A. Venn, Pt. 

I, p. 47. 

- John Dryden: Bibliographical Memoranda. P. J. 

Dobell. 

1923 . The Problem of Timon of Athens. T. M. Parrott. 
(Shakespeare Association Pamphlets, No. 10), p. 3. 

1924 . Restoration Comedy. Bonamy Dobree. 

1925 . British Drama. Allardyce Nicoll. 

- “Two songs Ascribed to Shadwell.” D. M. Walms- 

ley. Review of English Studies , Vol. I, 350-352. 






JJtbltograpljg 377 

- “New Light on Thomas Shadwell.” D. M. Walms- 

Iey. Times Literary Supplement , i6 April. 

1926 . The Private Correspondence and Miscellaneous Pa¬ 
pers of Samuel Pepys, 1679 to 1703 . J. R. Tanner. 
Vol. I, 209; Vol. II, 315. 

1927 . The Complete Works of Thomas Shadwell. 5 Vols. 
Ed. Montague Summers. Reviewed in Times Literary 
Supplement , 2 February, 1928. 

- Sir Charles Sedley y 1639 - 1701 . A Study in the 

Life and Literature of the Restoration. V. de Sola 
Pinto. 

- Shakespeare Improved: the Restoration Versions in 

Quarto and on the Stage , Hazelton Spencer. 

1928 . “The Influence of Foreign Opera on English 
Operatic Plays of the Restoration Period.” D. M. 
Walmsley. Anglia. Bd. XL, 37-50. 

- Thomas Shadwell. His Life and Comedies. A. S. 

Borgman. 




<Moss$sat? 

Abbreviations: E.W. Epsom Wells. 

V.S. The Volunteers, or The Stock-Jobbers. 

N.E.D. New Oxford English Dictionary. 

S.D. Stage Directions. 


A Dod, corruption of Ah God, 
equivalent to egad. V.S. 

i, 47, etc. 

after-reckonings, subsequent 
or final accounts. E.W. 

ii, 182. 

almond-milk, a preparation 
made from sweet blanched 
almonds and water, of 
some use in medicine as 
an emollient. E.W. v, 
339 * 

antick, grotesque, ridiculous. 
V.S. i, 155. 

aqua mirabilis, “ The won¬ 
derful water, prepared of 
cloves, galangale, cubebs, 
mace, cardomums, nut¬ 
megs, ginger, and spirit of 
wine, digested twenty- 
four hours, then distilled.” 
(Johnson, quoted in 
N.E.D., where the earliest 
reference is dated 1741.) 
E.W. ii, 362. 


avant, avaunt, (Fr. en avant ) 
begone. (Cf. Othello, III, 
iii, 336.) E.W. i, 440; 
V.S. i, 760. 

Bantamite, apparently na¬ 
tive of Bantam in North¬ 
west Java. V.S. iv, 71. 
bars, a kind of false dice on 
which certain numbers are 
prevented from turning 
up. V.S. ii, 697. 
basset, a card game intro¬ 
duced from Venice, men¬ 
tioned by Evelyn, 1645. 
V.S. i, 98. 

bear-bating, alternative 
spelling of bear-baiting, a 
popular “ sport ” in the 
XVIth and XVIIth cen¬ 
turies. E.W. v, 44. 
Bedlam, corruption of Beth¬ 
lehem Hospital, a lunatic 
asylum, formerly at the 
end of Blackfriars Road. 
V.S. iii, 232. 


378 



©lofigar? 379 


bed-staff, a stick or staff kept 
near a bed for some ob¬ 
scure purpose, often used 
as a weapon. E.W. iv, 
650. 

Bellarmine, “ A large glazed 
drinking-jug with capa¬ 
cious belly and narrow 
neck, originally designed, 
by the Protestant party 
in the Netherlands, as a 
burlesque likeness of their 
great opponent, Cardinal 
Bellarmine.” (N.E.D., 
where the earliest ref¬ 
erence is dated 1719.) 
E.W. iv, 104. 

biskes, a soup made origi¬ 
nally of crayfish (Fr. 
bisque); afterwards applied 
to soups made from birds. 
V.S. ii, 382. 

blanc manger, early spelling 
of blanc mange, used by 
Chaucer, Prologue to Can¬ 
terbury Tales, 387. V.S. 
ii, 380. 

blunts, a kind of foil used 

for fencing, contrasted 

with sharps. E.W. i, 545. 

boars, apparently confused 
with boors, originally 

peasants, later rude, clown¬ 
ish fellows. E.W. v, 

726. 

bob, jolt, unpleasant sur¬ 
prise. E.W. v, 305, etc. 


breech, the hams. V.S. iii, 
630 (S.D.), 632. 

broad-piece, applied, after 
the introduction of the 
guinea in 1663, to the 
much broader and thinner 
twenty-shilling piece of 
the reigns of James I and 
Charles I. V.S. i, 497; v, 
396 . 

bubble, defraud, gull, to de¬ 
lude by false appearances 
(replacing the Elizabethan 
term coney-catching); a 
person so deceived. E.W. 

ii, 862; V.S. iii, 582 
(verb); E.W. iii, 483, V.S. 

iii, 574 (noun). 

cacara camouchi, term of en¬ 
dearment; see note on 
E.W. iii, 488. 

canary, a light sweet wine 
imported from the Ca¬ 
nary Islands. E.W. iv, 
3 i- 

canonical, in accordance with 
ecclesiastical canons or 
rules. E.W. ii, 261; v, 
867. 

carriers, wagons used for 
carrying the mail, also for 
taking passengers. E.W. 
i, 150. 

carrion, used as a term of 
abuse. (Cf. Merchant of 
Venice, III, i, 38.) E.W. 
iii, 138. 



380 


(Slosaarp 


catch’d, alternative spelling 
to caught until the end of 
the XVIIIth century. 
E.W. iii, 474, etc. 

cattle, black, applied to oxen, 
bulls, and cows, originally 
applied to black breeds of 
the Scottish Highlands 
and Wales; apparently 
an obscure metaphorical 
use. V.S. i, 273, 274; iii, 
212. 

caveat, a legal process to 
suspend proceedings; 
hence used generally as a 
warning. V.S. v, 454. 

cherubin, the plural form of 
cherub, used in the singu¬ 
lar as a term of endear¬ 
ment. E.W. ii, 113. 

chincough, whooping cough. 
V.S. iii, 446. 

citts, citizens. E.W., I Pro¬ 
logue, 13. 

Cod sniggs, a mild oath 
derived from God and a 
word of obscure origin 
(not recorded in N.E.D.). 
E.W. i, 667. 

Cods me, conception of God's 
knee, a mild oath. E.W. 
iii, 415. 

comet, a card game recently 
introduced, the earliest 
reference in N.E.D. being 
to Shadwell’s Bury Fair , 
1689. V.S. i, 95. 


complement, alternative 
spelling to compliment 
until the end of the 
XVIIIth century. E.W. 

iii, s 17; V.S., I Prologue, 
4 - 

consort, the more regular 
spelling of concert in the 
XVIIth century. E.W. 
v, 371- 

corant, possibly a form of 
coranto, a kind of dance; 
more probably of courante, 
a running kind of walk. 
V.S. i, 519. 

coupee, a dance step. V.S. 

i, 483 - 

cove, couve, literally, to 
hatch or to incubate; to 
make love. V.S. iii, 502. 
cribach, a rare spelling of 
cribbage. In The Compleat 
Gamester, 1674, it is spelt 
Cribbidge. E.W. i, 673; 

ii, 522. 

currans, an alternative early 
spelling of currants (from 
raisins de Corinthe). E.W. 

iv, 27. 

decimated, from “ Decima¬ 
tions,” extortionate taxes 
raised by Cromwell from 
cavaliers who possessed 
any wealth. V.S. i, 121. 
Diet, applied to the legisla¬ 
tive assembly of Poland. 
E.W. iv, 93. 



®lossarg 


381 


dive dapper, literally, a dab- 
chick ; applied ludicrously to 
a person. V.S. iv, 163, 164. 

douce, for douse, a slang term 
for a bow. E.W. iv, 
761 (S.D.). 

drap-de-berry, a kind of 
woolen cloth called after 
the town of Berry in 
France. V.S. i, 661; 
iii, 200. 

dust, (slang) toss off, drink 
quickly. E.W., i, 337; 
iii, 55 i. 

entries, applied originally 
to the formal entries of 
dancers in a ballet, then to 
the dances themselves 
(Fr. entrees de ballet). 
V.S. v, 324 

errant, errand (phonetic 
spelling of vulgar pronun¬ 
ciation). E.W. v, 293. 

featest, most skilful. V.S. 
ii, 234. 

feble, for feeble, portion of 
sword from the middle 
to the point. (Also spelt 
foible.) V.S. iv, 442. 

filou, sharper, pickpocket 
(.French , not in N.E.D.). 
V.S. iv, 426. 

fire-ship, a vessel laden with 
combustibles, to be sent 
among enemy ships to 
set them on fire. E.W. 
ii, 320. 


fiz, for phiz, a contraction of 
physiognomy, slang for 
face. V.S. iv, 93. 
fore-handed, pertaining to 
the foreparts (neck, 
breast, and shoulders) of 
a horse. E.W. iii, 706, 
707. 

fox’t, fox’d, intoxicated. 

E.W. iv, 85, etc. 
fricasies, fricassees, tasty 
French dishes, recently in¬ 
troduced, made of chicken, 
rabbit, etc. fried in strong 
sauce. E.W. iv, 40; 
V.S. ii, 384. 

fuge, the more usual spelling 
of fugue in the XVIIth 
century. V.S. iii, 151. 
galashoes, galoshes or go¬ 
loshes, from French ga- 
loche, a wooden shoe; spell¬ 
ing confused with shoe. 
V.S. i, s (S.D.). 
gleek, an old card game; 
N.E.D. gives a reference 
dated 1533. Described in 
The Com pleat Gamester, 
1674, p. 90. E.W. ii, 524. 
Gods-ooks, Gudse-ooks, a 
mild oath derived from 
God and a word of obscure 
origin. E.W. i, 320, etc. 
green-salve, a home-made 
ointment, also known as 
green butter. E.W. ii, 
82. 



382 


<Slossarp 


grisons, misprinted grifons 
(both in Q and D), serv¬ 
ants without livery, 
dressed in grey for secret 
errands (the only refer¬ 
ence cited in N.E.D.). 
V.S. ii, 21. 

guilds, gilds, brightens. 
V.S. ii, 472. 

hackney-coach, a vehicle 
kept for hire, drawn by 
hackneys (O. Fr. haque- 
nee, a pacing horse). 
E.W. iv, 310, 311. 
hey, or hay, a country dance 
or jig. Cf. Marlowe, 
Edward II, I, i, 167: “ My 
men like Satyres grazing 
on the lawnes, Shall with 
their Goate feete daunce 
the Anticke hay.” E.W. 
i, 26. 

hockamore, corruption of 
Hockheimer, the district 
which gives its name to 
hock, a light Rhenish wine. 
E.W. iii, 57. 

honest, chaste, virtuous. 
(Cf. As You Like It, I, ii, 
41, 42.) E.W. ii, 60. 
hot-spur, a swaggering fel¬ 
low. (Cf. character of 
Henry Hotspur in Henry 
IV.) E.W. v, 662. 
huffing, talking big, bluffing. 
(Cf. The Country Wife, 
Prologue, 19.) E.W. i,472. 


humour, disposition; for 
Shadwell’s definition see 
Introduction, p. xxxviii. 
E.W. i, 509. 

huswife, corruption of house¬ 
wife, later spelt hussy; a 
pert, forward woman, a 
jilt or jade. E.W. iv, 
682, 683. 

i’fack, i’fackings, variations 
of in faith. E.W. iii, 
474; i, 686, 687. 

inhumane, not distinguished 
from inhuman until late in 
the XVIIIth century. 
E.W. ii, 606, etc. 

Jacobite, a supporter of 
James II after he abdi¬ 
cated from the throne in 
1688. V.S. ii, 439; Epi¬ 
logue, 35. 

jilt-flirt, properly gill-flirt 
(from Gillian, a form of 
Juliana ), a young woman 
or girl of giddy character. 
E.W. iv, 738. 

Kick-shaws, trifles (corrup¬ 
tion of French quelques 
choses). E.W. i, 311. 

kill-cows, swashbuckler, 
bully, or braggadocio. 
V.S. iv, 179. 

kit, a small fiddle, possibly 
an abbreviation of Latin 
cithara or of cittern. V.S. 
i, 481; v, 32. 

langtriloo, commonly abbre- 




<Slos#ar£ 


383 


viated to loo; described 
in The Complect Gamester, 
1674, p. 144, under the 
name Lanterloo. E.W. ii, 
848. 

lattin-ware, latten, a fine 
kind of brass or bronze. 
E.W. iv, 56. 

lock (of hay), a small indefi¬ 
nite quantity. E.W. i, 
189. 

Lockets fellows, fops and 
wits who frequented 
Locket’s Ordinary. V.S. 
iii, 48. 

lolpoop, a lazy, idle fellow. 
E.W. ii, 490, 491. 

maggot, a caprice, or whim¬ 
sical fancy. (N.E.D. has 
reference dated 1625.) 
V.S. v, 284. 

mainprize, a legal term mean¬ 
ing a writ demanding sure¬ 
ties for a prisoner’s appear¬ 
ance. E.W. v, 792. 

Mall, the fashionable walk 
bordered by trees in St. 
James’s Park. V.S. ii, 
231. 

Mamamouchi, a mock title, 
supposedly Turkish, con¬ 
ferred on M. Jourdain in 
Moliere’s Le Bourgeois 
Gentilhomme. Equivalent 
to Paladin. See note. 
E.W. iii, 488. 

Miss, used in Restoration 


times to mean a harlot. 
V.S. i, 450. 

mop’d up, confined unwill¬ 
ingly (a use of mop'd 
unrecorded in N.E.D.). 
E.W. v, 713. 

mum, a strong kind of beer 
originally made in Bruns¬ 
wick and introduced into 
England by General Monk. 
The method of brewing it 
is described in the Har- 
leian Miscellany, ed. H. 
Savage, 1924, pp. 105-108. 
_ E.W. ii, 479; iii, 47b. 

nicompoop, earlier spelling 
of nincompoop, a booby, 
or stupid fellow. E.W. 
ii, 474 - 

olio, a stew or hotpot, 
highly spiced. V.S. ii, 
383 - 

ombre, a card game. See 
note. E.W. ii, 830; v, 
680. 

ordinaries, meals of fixed 
price “ served in taverns 
about midday,” composed 
of a variety of dishes in 
season, well drest, with 
all other accommodation 
fit ” ( Compleat Gamester ); 

also applied to the taverns 
where these meals were 
served. Prices varied con¬ 
siderably. Pepys, July 4, 
1663, arriving late with 




3 8 4 


&io$0ari? 


ordinaries, ( Continued ) 

his friend Creed at the 
King’s Head Ordinary at 
Charing Cross, dined very 
well at the second table 
for twelvepence each. 
E.W. i, 269. 

Ounds, contraction of God’s 
wounds, a mild oath. 
V.S. ii, 402. 

out-liers, applied to persons 
who lie outside the pale 
of the established church. 
In this sense the earliest 
use recorded in N.E.D. is 
dated 1690. E.W. iv, 64. 
pads, foodpads, highway 
robbers. E.W. iii, 731. 
parlous, perilous, dangerous. 
(Cf. Richard III, II, iv, 
35.) E.W. ii, 576. 
perruque, for more common 
Peruke (Fr. perruque, cor¬ 
rupted later to periwig). 
E.W. i, 412. 

phanatick, non-conformist, 
or belonging to dissenting 
church. V.S. i, 17, etc. 
pigsnye, term of endear¬ 
ment; literally, little pig's 
eye; used by Chaucer, 
Miller's Tale, 3268. E.W. 
iii, 489; V.S. i, 806. 
pilling, for peeling, stripping. 
(Cf. Merchant of Venice, 
I, iii, 85.) E.W. i, 296. 
pongy-bongy, a kind of snuff 


(not in N.E.D.). V.S. iii, 
271, 272. 

post, by post horses as op¬ 
posed to carriers, q.v. 
E.W. i, 149. 

posted, exposed to ridicule, 
e.g. by notice posted in a 
coffee house. E.W. i, 731. 

pother, earlier form of bother; 
noise, or turmoil. (Cf. 
Lear, III, ii, 50.) V.S. ii, 
712. 

pragmatick, practical. E.W. 
ii, 727. 

projection, the casting of 
the powder of the Philoso¬ 
pher’s Stone (powder of 
projection) upon a metal 
in fusion to effect its 
transmutation into gold. 
V.S. v, 237. 

punk, harlot. E.W. i, 659. 

put, or putt, “ the ordinary 
rooking Game of every 
place” ( The Compleat 
Gamester, p. 131). E.W. 
iv, 6. 

puther, see pother. E.W. 
iv, 38. 

quartane, applied to an ague 
or fever in which a par¬ 
oxysm recurs every fourth 
(in modern reckoning, 
third) day. E.W. iii, 
291. 

quorum, see note. E.W. i, 

293- 



(Slosaarp 


385 


ragoust, early spelling of 
ragodt, a stew with vege¬ 
tables highly seasoned. 
E.W. iv, 40; V.S. ii, 
383. 

rakehel, a thorough scoun¬ 
drel, in common use from 
1550 to 1720. V.S. II, 
Prologue, 22. 

ram, a cuckold. V.S. iv, 237. 
rap and rend, snatch and 
seize. E. W. i, 59. 
reculliscence, corruption of 
recognizance. E.W. iii, 
759 - 

roaring, acting like a “ Roar¬ 
ing Boy ” or roarer, a 
term regularly applied in 
pre-Restoration times to 
wild young bloods, known 
at the end of the century 
as “ scowrers.” (See E.W. 
ii, 826.) E.W. i, 34. 
rub, an obstacle on a bowling 
green to prevent the 
ball from rolling in a 
straight course; used 
metaphorically. (Cf. Ham¬ 
let, III, i, 65.) E.W. v, 
74 - 

rub-rub, “ us’d on the Greens 
when the Bowl flees too 
fast, to have it forbear, 
if words wou’d do it.” 
(Dictionary of the Canting 
Crew.) E.W. iii, 379 
(S.D.). 


rubbers, rencounters with 
drawn sword, (ibid). V.S. 
i, 286. 

ruffins, earlier spelling of 
ruffians. E.W. i, 419. 

sallets, earlier alternative 
spelling of salads. V.S. ii, 
397 - 

sarcenet, a kind of fine, 
woven silk. V.S. i, 
661. 

scower, earlier spelling of 
scour, to paint the town 
red. E.W. ii, 826. 

scritore, for scrutoire, es¬ 
critoire. V.S. iv, 2. 

sea-coal, coal brought by 
sea from coal mines, as op¬ 
posed to the more com¬ 
mon charcoal. (Cf. Merry 
Wives of Windsor, I, iv, 
9.) E.W. i, 280. 

shammey, shammy, phonetic 
spelling of chamois. 
E.W. i, 741. 

sharps, kind of fencing foils, 
contrasted with blunts. 
E.W. i, 546. 

shoars, probably not a 
variant of sewers, but 
from the “ common shore ” 
by the waterside where 
filth was deposited. V.S. 
i, 68. 

shock-dogs, rough-haired 
dogs, poodles. E.W. i, 
402. 



3 86 


^lossarg 


side-glassing, ogling from 
carriage windows (not in 
N.E.D.). V.S. iv, 56. 
smoaky, suspicious ( Diction¬ 
ary of the Canting Crew). 
V.S. iii, 514. 

soveraignly, excellently, a 
fashionable epithet. E.W. 
i, 9. 

spleenatick, splenetic, peev¬ 
ish. E.W. i, 82. 
springal, a youth or stripling. 
V.S. ii, 203. 

stand of ale, literally an 
open tub or barrel. E.W. 
i, 334; iii, SSI- 
stingo, “ humming, strong 
liquor,” ( Dictionary of the 
Canting Crew), applied 
particularly to ale or beer. 
E.W. iv, 9. 

stin’st, for stintest. V.S. i, 
48. 

Streights trade, trade with 
the Mediterranean through 
the Straits of Gibraltar. 
E.W. iv, 20, 21. 
stum’d wine, wine tasting 
flat; literally wine in 
which fermentation has 
been arrested by fumigat¬ 
ing the cask containing 
the liquor with burning 
sulphur. E.W. i, 386. 
tearm, in law, the period 
(term) during which a 
court of justice holds its 


sessions for the trial of 
cases. E.W. i, 184. 
teirce for tierce, (in fencing) 
a position in which the 
wrist and nails are turned 
downwards, the weapon 
of the opponent being on 
the right of the fencer. 
V.S. iv, 436. 

termagant, a brawling or 
turbulent person, origi¬ 
nally used of a person of 
either sex. E.W. i, 353; 
ii, 708. 

test-man, a man who sub¬ 
scribed to the religious 
tests imposed by the Test 
Act (1673). V.S. iii, 61. 
tetter, literally, a skin dis¬ 
ease, eczema, etc., used 
metaphorically (possibly 
owing to the prevalence of 
smallpox in the Restora¬ 
tion period). V.S. ii, 515. 
titest, smart, from tite, an 
adverb meaning quickly. 
E.W. iii, 449. 

tory-rory, in a roaring, bois¬ 
terous fashion; origin ob¬ 
scure ; but probably origi¬ 
nally unconnected with 
Tory as applied to wild 
Irish, or to the Tory politi¬ 
cal party. W.E. ii, 458. 
tuck, rapier. V.S. i, 287. 
vertuoso, applied to a scien¬ 
tist or member of the 



®los$ari? 


387 


Royal Society. See note. 
V.S. ii, 691. 

vizor-masques, masks which 
disguised the face. (See 
note to E.W., Prologue, 
22.) E.W. i, 350. 
wall-fac’d, with a blank, 
unintelligent expression. 
E.W. i, 411. 

Williamite, a supporter of 


William III; as opposed 
to Jacobite, q.v. V.S., ii, 
440. 

wittal, or wittol, a cuckold. 
(Cf. Merry Wives of Wind¬ 
sor, II, ii, 313.) Sir 
Joseph Wittol is a charac¬ 
ter in Congreve’s The Old 
Batchelor (D.L. Jan. 1693). 
E.W. iv, 695. 






























































